It's summer.
The kids are home.
They've been home and out of school for a month now. I should have known this was coming.
Now I have good kids - most of the time. They love their mom - most of the time. But right around the month of July, the devil in them comes out.
I had just finished a pleasant morning helping my youngest son learn how to make homemade pancakes. He asks for them every day, and he's old enough now, and I wanted to spend some time with him. It was fun, especially when all the family complimented him on his fine cooking.
After breakfast, he was soon neck-deep in his own projects.
So I snuck off to the office to write on my pirate book. And then a miniature football comes sailing in and knocks me in the head. It didn't hurt, but throwing things around computers - or anywhere in the house, for that matter - is a no-no.
I turned and gave him one of those 'mom' glares. (I'm not sure how potent mine is, but my mother's was lethal.)
"Sorry. Sorry," my son said, ducking his head and disappearing. But he was grinning.
Not two minutes later, I get whacked on the shoulder with a Styrofoam dart.
Warming up my glare, I spin around again. It must have been pretty scary, because he jabbed his finger toward the dart and squeaked, "There's a note! Look at the note!"
Sure enough, on the end of the dart was a sticky note. This is what it said:
Sigh. How can a mom fight that? I hugged him, thanked him, stuck the sticky note up on my computer screen, and asked him to kindly refrain from hitting me with footballs and darts.
He smiled and nodded and went his merry way.
Not a minute later, a plastic boomerang comes sailing over my shoulder and hits the monitor. I grab it and spin around.
He's madly jabbing and squeaking again. "Note! Note!"
I flipped the boomerang over and here's the new note:
I sigh again. No mother on earth can fight this - and he didn't throw a football or shoot a dart.
I do believe he's found the perfect attention-getting weapon.
So now, another hug, and a long explanation later (from me - describing all sorts of things that can't be thrown, tossed, shot, or otherwise projectiled), I do believe I may be able to get some writing done.
Then again, kids are very smart nowadays. We shall see . . .
The kids are home.
They've been home and out of school for a month now. I should have known this was coming.
Now I have good kids - most of the time. They love their mom - most of the time. But right around the month of July, the devil in them comes out.
I had just finished a pleasant morning helping my youngest son learn how to make homemade pancakes. He asks for them every day, and he's old enough now, and I wanted to spend some time with him. It was fun, especially when all the family complimented him on his fine cooking.
After breakfast, he was soon neck-deep in his own projects.
So I snuck off to the office to write on my pirate book. And then a miniature football comes sailing in and knocks me in the head. It didn't hurt, but throwing things around computers - or anywhere in the house, for that matter - is a no-no.
I turned and gave him one of those 'mom' glares. (I'm not sure how potent mine is, but my mother's was lethal.)
"Sorry. Sorry," my son said, ducking his head and disappearing. But he was grinning.
Not two minutes later, I get whacked on the shoulder with a Styrofoam dart.
Warming up my glare, I spin around again. It must have been pretty scary, because he jabbed his finger toward the dart and squeaked, "There's a note! Look at the note!"
Sure enough, on the end of the dart was a sticky note. This is what it said:
Sigh. How can a mom fight that? I hugged him, thanked him, stuck the sticky note up on my computer screen, and asked him to kindly refrain from hitting me with footballs and darts.
He smiled and nodded and went his merry way.
Not a minute later, a plastic boomerang comes sailing over my shoulder and hits the monitor. I grab it and spin around.
He's madly jabbing and squeaking again. "Note! Note!"
I flipped the boomerang over and here's the new note:
I sigh again. No mother on earth can fight this - and he didn't throw a football or shoot a dart.
I do believe he's found the perfect attention-getting weapon.
So now, another hug, and a long explanation later (from me - describing all sorts of things that can't be thrown, tossed, shot, or otherwise projectiled), I do believe I may be able to get some writing done.
Then again, kids are very smart nowadays. We shall see . . .
