When boys do housework

When boys sort the laundry:

Believe it or not, the laundry actually got done that day. Eventually.

When boys put the dishes away:

I tell people that having three boys at these ages is like herding puppies. They wrestle all the time. For fun. Even with kids they’ve just met.

And I listen to a lot of bad jokes.

-The octopus said “what a lovely day”.

The man said “it’s not a lovely day”.

Why did the man say that? Because it was raining. Get it?

-Felicity asked for a hot dog. Calvin said, “why don’t you ask the dog.”

-Why does the lady keep exploding? Because she keeps drinking TNT.

-What did the light say to the other light? I’m lighter than you.

-The thief says to the mummy, “I’ll shoot your brains out.” Mummy: “Haha. I don’t have any brains.”

-Why did the old women keep shooting to the sky? Because she kept eating firecrackers.

And there’s always more where that came from.

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Filed under Boys will be boys, These are the things I want to remember, This is going to be really funny one day

Ethan is a bat (probably)

It wasn’t an easy conclusion to come to, but it doesn’t make sense any other way.

See, we put him to bed in his crib, in a room he shares with his sister. Round about 3 or 4 or 5 in the morning he wakes up, decides to get up (nocturnal, anyone?) climbs out of his crib (or flies, it’s not like we’re watching him) and then makes his way through his usually toy shrewn room in the dark, opens the door, always closes the door and then walks through the dark house (can he see in the dark or does he have a sonar system?). He then opens our door, closes our door (not quietly) and then stands by my bed staring at me until I wake up. At least I assume he’s staring, except that it’s dark and I can’t see. (I’m not a bat.) It’s creepy and I’m pretty sure that’s what bats do.

But if I haven’t convinced you yet, this next part will (probably) do it.

So, the same sonar system, nocturnal, up in the night, star at mom while she sleeps, creepy bat maneuver happened the other night around 3 am. He nursed, he fussed, I turned over and ignored him and he feel asleep. I woke up a little chilly and reached for the covers, only to discover that there was an upside down bat child in my bed. His head was around where my knees were. And his feet were in smelling distance. So, not only could I not pull up the covers, but I also had to sleep with a bat that can kick.

Also? He eats fruit.

(Totally a bat.)

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Filed under Aren't my kids funny?, Boys will be boys, These are the things I want to remember

A Tantrum Throwing Tip, brought to you by Ethan

Have you ever had poor service?

Like your Mom is taking too long to get your lunch?

Or she had to put you down to take something out of the oven?

She didn’t get you the right snack?

Or, most egregious, she put your water in the wrong cup?

When these things happen, I suggest you throw yourself to the ground and wail it out.

The problem, of course, is that tile is hard. So, a little tip I’ve discovered is that in between starting to cry, throwing your cup or toy to the ground, and actually falling to the ground in despair, you look for a soft place to land.

If there are two choices, go to the one closest, so you’ll look more authentic. You might have to walk a little ways to get there, so keep crying and moving and when you make it to the rug, then throw yourself down. Try not to hit your head, though or you might start crying for real.

I’m sure no one will notice the delay. They’ll be so distressed by your great displeasure, they’ll be frantically trying to find the proper cup for your beverage.

(Although, come to think of it, I never did get that cup of water I ordered yesterday.)

I love my life.

I love my life.

 

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Filed under Boys will be boys, That was fun, These are the things I want to remember, This is going to be really funny one day

He’s already taken

A Series of Conversations with Felicity:

(While in the car)

F: Mom, when I gonna get married?

Me: Oh, probably when you’re 20 or so.

F: Hmm.

Me: Who are you going to marry?

F: Daddy.

(While in Target)

F: I just need some flowers. Then I can get married.

Me: You just need flowers? Then you can get married?

F: Yeah. I need some flowers. There’s some flowers over there.

Me: What are you going to wear?

F: I don’t know.

Pink flowers

Her 4th birthday

(While getting dressed for church)

F: Maybe I can wear this dress to get married.

Mr. French: Oh, but you’ll be a grown up when you get married. You’re a little girl now. This dress won’t fit you when you get married.

F: I’m going to marry you.

Mr. French: Oh, honey. But I already married Mommy, so I can’t marry you. I can only be married to one person.

F: Oh.

Mr. French: When you get older you’ll find a nice Christian man to marry.

F: I don’t want to marry that guy.

(Later that evening.)

F: I changed my mind. I’m not going to marry Daddy.

Me: You’re not?

F: No. ‘Cause you already married Daddy. (sigh.) I’m going to marry my best friend instead.

Maybe she could wear this dress.

Maybe she could wear this dress.

(At Target. Again.)

F: Mom, are you going to get those flowers for when I get married?

Me: Hmm, maybe.

F: I don’t want roses. I just want flowers.

F: Mom, I know I can’t marry Daddy. Be-tause Daddy already marry you.

Me: Yes, that’s true.

F: I just wish I could marry Daddy. I wish I could still marry Daddy.

F: Why are you laughing? It’s not funny.

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Filed under Girls are not boys

How not to make bone broth (Or, what just happened?)

Yesterday was a weird day. Mostly just the end of it, though.  Ethan decided he would not go to bed until all was right in his world and after much screaming, finally, finally fell asleep in Felicity’s bed with her around 10:45pm. I had holed myself up in our back bedroom with earphones in and cursed my lazy self for never sleep training him. (But he was such a fussy baby! It seemed like a good idea at the time!)

Anyway, now you know that I was in the back bedroom at 11 pm, almost ready to turn in for the night. Mr. French, was also there, studying at his makeshift standup desk/dresser. I’d just like to reiterate that it’s unusual for us to be in the back bedroom instead of the open living/kitchen/dining area, which has better lighting and is where we tend to hang out in the evening once the kids are in bed.

Suddenly, there was a loud Whoosh! sound. The kind that makes you imagine horrible things but nothing like what you’re about to discover.

So, we’re standing in the kitchen, that previously had been a 2 on a scale of 1-10, (1=bone dry and 10=covered in 1 foot of water) and was now easily a 7 on the same scale.

I just stood there for a minute because I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing.

“The dish washer…?” I said.

“Oh, it must be the dishwasher! There’s water everywhere.” said Mr. French.

Silence.

“It’s the crockpot.” I said, as the smell of beef and grease finally clued me in. And then I noticed little pieces of meat amongst the dripping drips. “But…why?how? It’s everywhere. I mean everywhere.”

Mr. French starts getting rags out, cleaning up.

I just stood there. The crockpot was intact. The glass lid was still in one piece and firmly latched down. The crockpot was turned off. And yet, all that remained inside were the bones. A once full pot was almost completely emptied. And the entire kitchen was literally dripping in broth.

Imagine this all covered in broth. Tasty!

Imagine this all covered in broth. Tasty!

I’m still clueless. There’s a steam hole in the lid. But how the pressure built up enough to spout all the broth out but not blow the top, I can’t figure out. There was broth in the three drawers closest to the crockpot, all over the island and the counter next to it. All over the floor (which Mr. French cleaned up!), all over the sink and the clean dishes next to it. Of course the cabinets, the underside of the cabinets, were sprayed. Any paper I had sitting on the counter got completely ruined.

I’ve been making bone broth for the last year, in this crock pot. I’ll throw it all together and leave it for, literally, days. If I don’t want to deal with it, I just keep reprogramming it. (It has an automatic shutoff.) But this last batch I had only started one day earlier.

This was all that was left. Yes, I left it out all night.

This was all that was left. Yes, I left it out all night.

Anyway, I’m glad I wasn’t in the kitchen at the time. I’m really glad that I didn’t find it the next morning (talk about a bad morning) and I’m especially glad that it was late at night and none of the kids were around or near it. When I told the boys about it the next morning they said they wished they had been around to see it. They were also sure that MacGyver could have figured out what had happened.

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Filed under Boys will be boys, Mr. French, Pictures worth a thousand words, That's just gross, This is going to be really funny one day

On coming back

Have you ever not done something for so long that you don’t know how to come back? And then everything is different when you come back?

(And by everything, I mean wordpress looks completely different now. What is up with all the icons?)

So, let’s just clear up the most obvious questions.

1. No, I’m not pregnant.

2. No, we haven’t moved and aren’t planning to. (Which means nothing, if you know us at all.)

So, I thought as a soft entry, I’d just throw up some videos of Ethan, as he has probably changed the most. He seems to enjoy having people laugh at him, so feel free.

And if that wasn’t enough, he did more for us.

And last but not least, when he figures us out.

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March 30, 2013 · 4:31 pm

This post brought to you by the letter, F

“F my name! Mom! F my name.”

“You wrote my name! You wrote F.”

“This is mine. ’cause F.”

Spying an F on a bag of chips. “My name! F my name. Fecity my name. Why is my name there?”

It’s nice that she’s become so proficient at spelling and writing her name but I can’t wait until she figures out that she doesn’t actually own the letter, F.

F my name!

P.S. How was everyone’s summer? Can you believe it’s over? (I mean, in theory.)

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Filed under Aren't my kids funny?, Girls are not boys