Blog

 
 

It has been brought to my attention that I have been overlooking my best source for blog ammo--my 4 sons. I suppose that their adventures have become so commonplace for me, that I fail to see their entertainment value, or maybe I just don't want to sound like I'm complaining about my life. To set the record straight, before I begin sharing these stories, it is not my intent to complain or be a martyr in any way.

 
 

For example, bed-time at our house is not always easy, and I have been known to put it off from time to time (Yeah, ok, most of the time). My neighbor, Mindi, still laughs when she tells of the evening she looked out her upstairs window at about 9:30 (this is mid-summer, by the way) just in time to see my 3 youngest boys (6,5 and 3) stealthily climbing out the dining room window (totally against the rules) armed with butter knives in each hand. She was so intrigued that she followed their progress to another window and watched as they sneaked across the neighbors' lawns Scooby and Shaggy style, then disappeared behind the "Freaky House" (This is a very nice, never-occupied house in our cul-de-sac . Why they call it the Freaky house, I have no idea.) Mindi says it was only moments before they were running back, pell-mell. Whatever brave action they had planned with the butter-knives was lost in the terror of whatever had spooked them. They ran right past the front door as if we didn't have one, and tumbled back in through the dining room window as fast as they could! They had been watching that "one last movie" before I read stories and tucked them in, and decided to go exploring.

 
 

Another little tale is Dannan and the Suburban window. The boys were playing outside with a few big, flat cardboard boxes while I folded laundry upstairs. Dannan had decided to use one of the boxes for "knife throwing" target practice with Adam's metal file, by laying it down on the ground right behind the Suburban. I heard Dannan come hollering into the house "I'm dead! I'm dead! Dad's going to kill me!" he sounded like he really believed it. I went downstairs feeling a little sick, thinking he must have killed the puppy or something. I found him turning in circles, wringing his hands and repeating his fears that his life was over. I think he was on the verge of hyperventilating. I finally got him to say "the window!" and convinced him to show me what happened. I came outside to find the back window of our Suburban shattered all over the garage and driveway. Honestly, I was so relieved that the puppy was still alive, and he was punishing himself so much already, that I found it fairly easy to stay calm while we swept up the glass. Fortunately the insurance covered most of the cost, and it was repaired easily. Dannan has hopefully learned to be more careful with tools around the car.

 
 

Maybe I don't tell these stories because they damage my image as a mother! Hmmm!