Breakdancin'

It was an incredibly hectic weekend, which I will share in photos as we move through the week. As if he just knew I needed to end the weekend on a smile, my son willingly allowed me to video him breakdancing.

Bust a move, Andrew. Sorry that I couldn't find my boombox with some Hammertime blasting out...

Recipe for Little Boys

Take 1 "Y" chromosome.


Combine with a pound of dirt (measure accurately here, as the dirt and "Y" chromosome compliment each other well).


Add equal amounts cuts, scrapes and bruises (try not to overdo this one, but sometimes you can't help it).


Stir in some willpower and stubborness.


Add a heaping dash of sweetness and charm.


Add a ball of energy. Heck, if you're feeling a bit daring, add several balls of energy.

Mix well. Spread it all over your house and sprinkle with Legos and action figures.

Sit back and enjoy!

Recliner Snoozin

Don't you just hate it when your head slumps over like this in the recliner?



Ugh. Umpff. Snork.

Much better.

(And this was my first attempt at Photoshop Elements, in which I have no clue what I'm doing and apparently, my baby looks a bit bright - Oh well, no harm done).

Welcome to America

"Mom, what are these guys?"

My neighbor's mother-in-law is apparently a garage sale junkie and cannot pass up a good deal. These Wood Logs were in prime condition, so she snatched them up before anyone else could. Problem is, her grandsons are 17 and 13 and really don't play with wood logs anymore.

So Andy and Paul received the Lincoln Log knockoff treasure. Knock off Lincoln Logs complete with cowboys and Indians.

"What are these guys?" He asked again.

"Cowboys and Indians."

"Okay." Sometimes Mr. Sharpie is okay with a short and sweet answer. And since the little figures had weapons (and one seems to be holding a metal detector), he started lining them up for battle.

But his generation? They don't know that cowboys and Indians are supposed to fight each other. Not fight together against the Xmen or Pokemon. How un-American is that? Sheesh. Kids these days just don't know their history.

(This is where I take a moment to tell my Native American friends to breathe in and out and not get upset just because the communists like to stereotype and I like sarcasm.)

It's a darn good thing we have China to keep the whole world up to speed on American life.

Look at this strapping young brave. See those abs? And his fine form as he pulls back the imaginary arrow to take out the white man. I also like the fact that he appears to be wearing chaps as well as a loincloth - you can't take any chances when up against the white man.

Sparklerbomb

Here's the sparklerbomb created by Kathryn's (Rachel's best bud) brother and his friends. A sparklerbomb is where you duct tape hundreds of harmless sparklers together and light just the one. Then you step back a fair distance.

Please note that despite how it looks, Kathryn actually did not get touched by the explosion.

Andy watched the whole thing. And won't come near a sparkler anymore. That might be a good thing - a fear of fire.

A Near Miss

This is one of those good tales that makes me so happy I have somewhere to tell it and hopefully (if blogger doesn't ever disappear), keep it forever. One of those laughable parenting moments...

Two nights ago, Bill showed up at our house with Jack and Lucy so Rachel could take a shower after White Water. Since Andy, Paul and I were headed to the park with the neighbor kids, we dragged Jack and Lucy with us and told Bill that he could drive over and pick the kids up when Rachel was done.

The kids were playing awesome overall when Bill and Rachel showed up. They parked and came sat with me and my neighbor. Then the kids asked Rachel to play Red Rover with them (isn't it just fabulous when kids pick a game like that one their own accord and not just in P.E. class?) and after a few minutes of hanging with us adults, Bill couldn't hack it anymore and joined in the game.

After that, everyone went to their respective homes; Rachel went with Bill, Jack and Lucy to their house.

Yesterday, my neighbor (not the same one) started to haul all the kids again off to the park and I put on my shoes and caught up. Because it's not really fair for one parent to look after 6 kids at a park, albeit a small park. Everyone dropped their bikes and we ambled over to the bench to sit down.

On the bench, I noticed the water bottle we had left the night before as well as the light saber some other kid had left the other day. I sat down next to it, looked down and there was a cell phone.

"Look, someone left a cell phone," I said outloud to my neighbor as I picked it up. "Oh! It's Rachel's cell phone!" And it was. I could tell by the green glitter paint she had decorated it with.

And my mind began whirring. That girl. That girl is so irresponsible sometimes. I try not to buy her anything anymore because she has absolute zero appreciation for the cost of things like clothes and cell phones. To her, everything can be replaced and replaced easily (she spent 8 years as practically the only grandkid, so she pretty much got whatever she wanted). And this was a 250 dollar cell phone that you would have thought she would have taken a bit better care of since she had helped save up for it.

I ranted a bit to my neighbor.

And then I got all conspiratory and decided I would just let her suffer. That I would call her dad's phone when we got home and ask why she didn't text me back earlier that day. And make her squirm.

I had worked out quite a nice little plan when Rachel showed up at the park on her bike. I wasn't expecting her, but the opportunity made itself clear.

"Hey, I didn't know you were coming home tonight. You didn't text me back this morning." I said as nonchalantly as possible.

She gave me a frowny look and said "You've got my phone."

"Me? Why would I have your phone? I don't have your phone." It was already in my back pocket so she couldn't possibly have known that.

Her face contorted. "What do you mean, you don't have my phone?"

Again, I nonchalantly said "Why would I have your phone?" And gave her a piercing look.

Her voice raised several octaves. "Because I gave it to you last night when I played with the kids!"

And then it all washed over me. In the span of a milisecond, I remembered it all.

She had handed me her phone so she could play Red Rover. I had set it down next to me and the water bottle and the light saber. And promptly walked out of the park, leaving her phone right there on the park bench.

For 24 hours. In a neighborhood park. On a day that had pleasant weather so I'd be surprised if kids hadn't played at the park all day.

I pulled it out of my back pocket and sheepishly handed it over. My neighbor was laughing his hiney off by now. Rachel was staring at me with an astonished look (although she knows how scattered I can be so it really shouldn't suprise her).

So...two lessons learned. First, don't plan to sacrifice your kid on the altar until you are 100 percent sure she is at fault. Second, there's a testament to how decent the world can be, especially our neighborhood.

Oh, and third lesson? Don't trust your mom with important things like ensuring your cell phone gets from the park to home in one piece. Or even at all.

Not Cool, but Hawt

Hawt: (pronounced "hot" with a bit of twang) teenage lingo for cool, groovy, and "in".

When the teenager uses it, one rolls their eyes and sighs.

When the 6 year old uses it, one rolls their eyes and laughs until tears flow.

"Hey, Rachel, let's go get our hawt clothes on and fix our hawt hair."

"Dad, you and Mom need to learn about hawt people."

"Rachel and I are so hawt, we can do anything we want to."

"Mom, hawt people don't do chores."

"Hey, Rachel, do I look hawt?"

"Only hawt people can be in the club."

Hey, Rachel, high five for being hawt."