because they constantly say funny things like this:
"I do not like whitey tighties. That is a public announcement." (So, I felt free to share).
Showing posts with label number two. Show all posts
Showing posts with label number two. Show all posts
Friday, May 21, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
it's nice to have boys...
because they come up with answers like this:
Doing geography this morning, Number Two had to label the four layers of the earth. He wrote 'mantle' and then immediately put "Mickey" in front of it. "Sorry Mom, I couldn't help myself" was his explanation.
Doing geography this morning, Number Two had to label the four layers of the earth. He wrote 'mantle' and then immediately put "Mickey" in front of it. "Sorry Mom, I couldn't help myself" was his explanation.
Friday, February 26, 2010
passing of the genes
Apparently sarcasm is genetic. One of my boys attended a birthday party and when the dad pulled blinds down, the entire unit fell. My darling son looks at him and says, "Well, if you wouldn't buy cheap blinds, they wouldn't break."
Thankfully these are friends of ours who cherish laughter more than possessions.
Thankfully these are friends of ours who cherish laughter more than possessions.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
it's nice to have boys...
who have a sense of humor.
Boy #1: "Mom! I think I dislocated my toe!" Boy #2: "What does that mean - you can't find it?"
Boy #1: "Mom! I think I dislocated my toe!" Boy #2: "What does that mean - you can't find it?"
Thursday, August 27, 2009
it's nice to have boys...
especially when they fight about stupid things.
"Mom, you really need to put [Boy Number One] in brain school! You need to get him re-educated to a smart person!"
Apparently there was a disagreement about which was the "right" way to scooter around the garage.
"Mom, you really need to put [Boy Number One] in brain school! You need to get him re-educated to a smart person!"
Apparently there was a disagreement about which was the "right" way to scooter around the garage.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
it's nice to have boys...
because only a boy would stick air gun pellets in BOTH of his ears and cry to his mom that it was an "ACCIDENT." I did not react with laughter like his father did.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
it stinks
I have instituted a new policy around here - the chore board. So far, in the couple months that we've had it up, it seems to be working well. No morning snack until all the chores are done (I lump schoolwork in with that.)
The boys whine about it, but when they see the writing on the board, they have little to argue about. And I think they like checking off things when they're done. Today, Number Two was not happy about having to do his chores. Mind you, they're not that bad. His list read: Make bed. Brush teeth. Schoolwork. Take out compost. Put away clothes. That's it. It's not like I'm making them scrub the toilet with a toothbrush.
But, he was still whining about it.
"It's gonna stink to be a Dad!" he insisted.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because then I have to do all this work." he said. "It stinks to be a kid too."
I didn't have the heart to tell him he might actually be right.
The boys whine about it, but when they see the writing on the board, they have little to argue about. And I think they like checking off things when they're done. Today, Number Two was not happy about having to do his chores. Mind you, they're not that bad. His list read: Make bed. Brush teeth. Schoolwork. Take out compost. Put away clothes. That's it. It's not like I'm making them scrub the toilet with a toothbrush.
But, he was still whining about it.
"It's gonna stink to be a Dad!" he insisted.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because then I have to do all this work." he said. "It stinks to be a kid too."
I didn't have the heart to tell him he might actually be right.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
on the mat
Last night God surprised me again.
We put boy #2 into the local youth wrestling program and I have been content, with the younger two boys, to sit on the side of the room, watching the coach put the 60-some kids through warm-up exercises. I've even been able to knit a bit. Last night I was not so lucky.
After giggling at my five-year-old and two-year-old as they tried to do the bicycle warm-up and windmills, we settled in as the boys got paired off to "wrestle" their partners. Last week my son was paired with a kid who seemed about as aggressive as a bull (a good pair I thought.) Turns out I was wrong. The two were supposed to be practicing a double-leg takedown on each other, switching off so each could learn it. Instead, this boy and my son were circling each other like two deer, waiting to do battle with their horns. Then, the other boy would make a mad dash at my son and try a takedown of force using only upper body strength. It didn't work well.
I noticed that this boy's parents were sitting directly across from the battling boys, but seemed be doing little to help out the situation. (Most of the others paired off had at least one parent or coach alongside, correcting mistakes.) After watching this go on for awhile and realizing that I was paying good money for my son to not learn the proper technique for a takedown, I left the two boys in the corner and crossed the room to be a coach.
I put the two face-to-face and explained what they needed to do: close together, fling the other's arms out, grab both legs, step-knee, right turn and drive him to the mat. Whew. But, it worked. They got at least a few "proper" takedowns in before it was time for the coach's demonstration of the next move. The other boy's family informed me that he just wasn't listening to them when they tried to explain what to do. (I almost snorted at that, but refrained from doing it aloud. I figured they just didn't know anything about wrestling.) I ran back to my corner to make sure the two other hooligans weren't causing any problems and found them trying to take each other down.
The next move was to flip the opponent over on his back while he was laying on his stomach using a half-nelson hold. (Under the armpit, over the head was drilled into all of our heads.) My son's partner had disappeared to get a drink of water. His father told me the boy's name and that he was a foster child (which explains why Dad was so much older than I expected) and that they were trying to get him interested in something. He came back and I was again on the mat trying to show the two boys what they were supposed to do. Get to the side. Arm under the armpit and over the head. Grab a leg and flip. Chest to chest with all your weight. On your toes! They got a few good moves in while I glanced over to see my other boys laying on top of each other. (Guess I'm getting free tuition for those two.)
Then the coaches wanted the boys to actually wrestle. This would have worked well, if the other kid was interested in wrestling and didn't seem to have a slight baby streak in him. They worked on taking each other down and I kept trying to get my son to finish off his moves, not just jump up right after a takedown. The other kid got bumped in the nose somehow and after that it was all downhill. Any time he got put into a position he didn't like, he'd grab his nose and say he got hit again. Once he got off the mat to give his dad a hug. I couldn't help but be a little frustrated that my son was not getting as much practice as some of the other kids who seemed to have a real desire to actually wrestle.
After practice was over, I was a sweaty hot mess. (Last time I wear long johns into the practice room - it's like 80 degrees inside.) I toyed with the idea of telling my son to try to switch partners next time (if it were possible.) But, felt immediately guilty about it.
Here's where the God part comes in. I recognized that He probably initiated this pairing off for a reason - both for my good, for my son's and for this boy's. I have no idea what his background is, but I have to give his foster parents credit for being willing to spend the money to get him involved in something, for showing him love and for just trying. I figured I should be able to do the same. It that means I have to be out of the mat learning wrestling moves right along with two little boys, so be it.
I've had weirder assignments.
We put boy #2 into the local youth wrestling program and I have been content, with the younger two boys, to sit on the side of the room, watching the coach put the 60-some kids through warm-up exercises. I've even been able to knit a bit. Last night I was not so lucky.
After giggling at my five-year-old and two-year-old as they tried to do the bicycle warm-up and windmills, we settled in as the boys got paired off to "wrestle" their partners. Last week my son was paired with a kid who seemed about as aggressive as a bull (a good pair I thought.) Turns out I was wrong. The two were supposed to be practicing a double-leg takedown on each other, switching off so each could learn it. Instead, this boy and my son were circling each other like two deer, waiting to do battle with their horns. Then, the other boy would make a mad dash at my son and try a takedown of force using only upper body strength. It didn't work well.
I noticed that this boy's parents were sitting directly across from the battling boys, but seemed be doing little to help out the situation. (Most of the others paired off had at least one parent or coach alongside, correcting mistakes.) After watching this go on for awhile and realizing that I was paying good money for my son to not learn the proper technique for a takedown, I left the two boys in the corner and crossed the room to be a coach.
I put the two face-to-face and explained what they needed to do: close together, fling the other's arms out, grab both legs, step-knee, right turn and drive him to the mat. Whew. But, it worked. They got at least a few "proper" takedowns in before it was time for the coach's demonstration of the next move. The other boy's family informed me that he just wasn't listening to them when they tried to explain what to do. (I almost snorted at that, but refrained from doing it aloud. I figured they just didn't know anything about wrestling.) I ran back to my corner to make sure the two other hooligans weren't causing any problems and found them trying to take each other down.
The next move was to flip the opponent over on his back while he was laying on his stomach using a half-nelson hold. (Under the armpit, over the head was drilled into all of our heads.) My son's partner had disappeared to get a drink of water. His father told me the boy's name and that he was a foster child (which explains why Dad was so much older than I expected) and that they were trying to get him interested in something. He came back and I was again on the mat trying to show the two boys what they were supposed to do. Get to the side. Arm under the armpit and over the head. Grab a leg and flip. Chest to chest with all your weight. On your toes! They got a few good moves in while I glanced over to see my other boys laying on top of each other. (Guess I'm getting free tuition for those two.)
Then the coaches wanted the boys to actually wrestle. This would have worked well, if the other kid was interested in wrestling and didn't seem to have a slight baby streak in him. They worked on taking each other down and I kept trying to get my son to finish off his moves, not just jump up right after a takedown. The other kid got bumped in the nose somehow and after that it was all downhill. Any time he got put into a position he didn't like, he'd grab his nose and say he got hit again. Once he got off the mat to give his dad a hug. I couldn't help but be a little frustrated that my son was not getting as much practice as some of the other kids who seemed to have a real desire to actually wrestle.
After practice was over, I was a sweaty hot mess. (Last time I wear long johns into the practice room - it's like 80 degrees inside.) I toyed with the idea of telling my son to try to switch partners next time (if it were possible.) But, felt immediately guilty about it.
Here's where the God part comes in. I recognized that He probably initiated this pairing off for a reason - both for my good, for my son's and for this boy's. I have no idea what his background is, but I have to give his foster parents credit for being willing to spend the money to get him involved in something, for showing him love and for just trying. I figured I should be able to do the same. It that means I have to be out of the mat learning wrestling moves right along with two little boys, so be it.
I've had weirder assignments.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
mealtime prayers
Number Four:
Dear God, thank you for the great night. Thank you for the great supper and thank you for lunch.
Number Three:
Dear God, thank y ou for the good food. I love Jeff Gordon! And I hope we can go to Grandma and Grandpa's tomorrow. And I hope all our countrizens are safe.
Number Two:
Dear God, I pray everyone does well in the race tomorrow and there are no injuries. I hope all our cousins are safe and so is Uncle Mike.
(Think we've got NASCAR on the mind around here?)
Dear God, thank you for the great night. Thank you for the great supper and thank you for lunch.
Number Three:
Dear God, thank y ou for the good food. I love Jeff Gordon! And I hope we can go to Grandma and Grandpa's tomorrow. And I hope all our countrizens are safe.
Number Two:
Dear God, I pray everyone does well in the race tomorrow and there are no injuries. I hope all our cousins are safe and so is Uncle Mike.
(Think we've got NASCAR on the mind around here?)
Monday, May 19, 2008
shop menards
The kids are getting too smart. We can hardly keep up with their logic anymore.
The other day we were shopping at the local home improvement warehouse. Hubby was walking the aisles with the seven-year-old when he heard him mutter, "This stupid store!"
Not seeing any blood, broken bones or items falling off shelves, Hubby asked him what was wrong.
"They're just so stupid here. They can't even sing their song right."
What?
"It should be 'shop at Menards.' Not 'shop Menards.' " he stated.
Troy still couldn't figure out what he was talking about, until he realized the store's jingle (which plays incessantly over the loudspeaker) goes:
Save big money.
Save big money.
When you shop Menards.
Trying to explain that it sounded better that way didn't make him feel any better.
"This place is so stupid. Why can't they just say it right?"
A few minutes later, Hubby heard him muttering again while the song played, "Blah blah blah stupid store." And apparently he went on and on about it, every time it played.
I suppose technically he's right - his grammar queen of a mother would have told him so. Dad wasn't quite inclined to do that.
Wonder who he takes after.
The other day we were shopping at the local home improvement warehouse. Hubby was walking the aisles with the seven-year-old when he heard him mutter, "This stupid store!"
Not seeing any blood, broken bones or items falling off shelves, Hubby asked him what was wrong.
"They're just so stupid here. They can't even sing their song right."
What?
"It should be 'shop at Menards.' Not 'shop Menards.' " he stated.
Troy still couldn't figure out what he was talking about, until he realized the store's jingle (which plays incessantly over the loudspeaker) goes:
Save big money.
Save big money.
When you shop Menards.
Trying to explain that it sounded better that way didn't make him feel any better.
"This place is so stupid. Why can't they just say it right?"
A few minutes later, Hubby heard him muttering again while the song played, "Blah blah blah stupid store." And apparently he went on and on about it, every time it played.
I suppose technically he's right - his grammar queen of a mother would have told him so. Dad wasn't quite inclined to do that.
Wonder who he takes after.
Monday, March 24, 2008
running away
Number Two was having a bad day. He decided that Dad was the meanest Dad ever and he was going to run away.
Within seconds, he was packing his lunch box with clothes. Hubby casually mentioned that he might want to take some socks and underwear too. A few minutes later our little runaway came down the stairs with all his cargo pant's pockets bulging.
He was ready to go, but then decided that he'd wait until after lunch since he didn't want to get hungry. After filling up, there was some discussion about where he was going to live, and he decided the woods would be a good place. Hubby asked him how he was going to manage there since he was afraid of the dark. "I'll just cover my head in my blankets," he retorted.
He grabbed two blankets and then started adding all his school books to the pile. Older Brother asked, "Why would you take your workbooks?"
"Well, DUH, I don't want to go to jail!" was his reply.
Then after talking about this whole trip some more, he decided he was going to wait until I came home so he could at least say goodbye to Mom. Funny thing is, when I got home I heard not one word about it. He did seem pretty relieved to go to bed though.
----------------------
I've thought it would be nice to just pack up and leave it all behind - well, not for the cold, snowy woods behind our house, but maybe for someplace warm, sunny and less stressful. However, I think I might actually be in danger of going to jail if I left too quickly without packing up the right things (or at least dropping them off somewhere safe.)
Running away sounds like too much work.
Within seconds, he was packing his lunch box with clothes. Hubby casually mentioned that he might want to take some socks and underwear too. A few minutes later our little runaway came down the stairs with all his cargo pant's pockets bulging.
He was ready to go, but then decided that he'd wait until after lunch since he didn't want to get hungry. After filling up, there was some discussion about where he was going to live, and he decided the woods would be a good place. Hubby asked him how he was going to manage there since he was afraid of the dark. "I'll just cover my head in my blankets," he retorted.
He grabbed two blankets and then started adding all his school books to the pile. Older Brother asked, "Why would you take your workbooks?"
"Well, DUH, I don't want to go to jail!" was his reply.
Then after talking about this whole trip some more, he decided he was going to wait until I came home so he could at least say goodbye to Mom. Funny thing is, when I got home I heard not one word about it. He did seem pretty relieved to go to bed though.
----------------------
I've thought it would be nice to just pack up and leave it all behind - well, not for the cold, snowy woods behind our house, but maybe for someplace warm, sunny and less stressful. However, I think I might actually be in danger of going to jail if I left too quickly without packing up the right things (or at least dropping them off somewhere safe.)
Running away sounds like too much work.
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