Games in the Snow

This weekend, my boys played out in the snow.  Outside, it was 14 degrees with a thick layer of ice covering our entire yard.  On top of the ice was a thin layer of snow.

The boys bundled up in their snow pants, jackets, hats and gloves.  Then, they carefully tiptoed onto the ice on our back porch.  Once off the back porch, they explored every inch of the back yard.  They poked at icicles, scooped snow, and pounded on the layers of ice entombing everything in the backyard. 

After a while, I decided to join them and teach my youngest how to ski.  Son #1 has been skiing numerous times but hopped into my ski boots first.  He scooted around the yard joyfully.  Sometimes, he would get stuck and call for help.  Once he was freed, Son #1 would glide across the ice and snow again.

Son #2 watched my eldest son ski eagerly awaiting his turn.  Finally, Son #1's turn on the skis was up.  Son #2 toddled to my empty ski boots and lifted his foot with anticipation.  I removed his shoes and popped him into my boots.  Then, Son #2 began to glide across our yard with help from behind.  Son #2 giggled with glee as the icy world whizzed by underneath my skis.  All too soon, his turn was done.  Son #2 was sad but his cheeks were rosy with cold.  Quickly I gathered both boys into the house to warm them up with hot chocolate.

 

 



The next day was just as cold and icy.  Son #1 dressed in his snow clothes quickly and rushed out the back door.  He could not wait to play in the ice and snow again.  Son #1 immediately began to break away large chunks of ice.  Soon, he had a good sized collection of large ice fragments in a pile on the ground.  I peeked from between the blinds and wondered what my eldest son had in store for the icy, misshapen blocks. 

Soon, Son #1 knelt on the ground and began to race these pieces of ice across the ground.  He made little engine noises for each chunk as they skidded around in intricate patterns.  A very complex racing game emerged from his collection of ice.  There were good icy guys and bad icy guys.  Each played a role in his little drama. 

I chuckled to myself.  Son #1's game reminds me of a game my dad used to play when he was a little boy.  Apparently, my dad acted out World War II with sticks in his backyard. 

Where's your Mommy?

Son #2 is finally potty trained.  He does not refuse to sit on the toilet.  He does not soil his training pants with abandon.  He does not rip off his soiled diaper and run through the house naked.  I do not happen upon disgusting accidents in unfortunate places.  All is well in my world.

Now, I can take Son #2 anywhere and feel confident that my young son will stay dry.  I've taken him to the grocery store, the park, and church in regular underwear.  I feel like I've conquered the world.  Of course, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my husband.  He is my partner in the madness that is potty training.

The other day, we had Thanksgiving dinner at my sister's house.  Son #2 wore a pull up to my sister's house but consistently used the guest restroom to relieve himself.  He was so proud every time he used the restroom.  Afterwards, my young son would shout out.  "Oh wow!  I did potty!  Oh look!  There's poo poo in the potty!"  Whereupon, I would congratulate him enthusiastically.

Soon, dinner was served at the dining room table.  We happily devoured our meals.  Some went back for seconds and thirds.  Then, we settled into the living room chairs to watch the Cowboys play the Raiders.  Midway through the game, I got up to use the restroom.  Son #2 toddled behind me and asked.  "Where going?"

I knelt down and said.  "I'm going to go potty.  Go sit with your Tia (Aunt)."

Son #2 wandered back to the living room and immediately burst into tears.  Tia pulled him into her lap and asked.  "What's the matter?"

Son #2 wiped the tears on his cheek and responded.  "Mommy gone."

Tia asked with a bit of concern.  "Where did Mommy go?"

Son #2 paused for a moment and then answered.  "Mommy go poo poo."

I wonder if my family will cheer for me when I'm finished on the potty.

Rewinding

Our little family still has a VCR.  We also still have a lot of Disney movies on video.  It may seem as though we are stuck in the 80's.  Yet, to assume that would be a mistake.  We do enjoy some of the latest types of technology but there is nothing like watching an old, nostalgic video on the VCR.

One day, the boys sat down to watch one of their favorite cartoons on video.  They cuddled up to each other with their pillows, blankets, and bowls of popcorn.  Their attention was captured by the story and music as their favorite character danced across the screen.  Periodically, they would giggle and laugh loudly.  My husband and I watched with them as we sat in our cozy chairs.  It was a very entertaining movie even for adults.

Finally, the movie was finished.  The boys rubbed their eyes sleepily as they picked up their blankets and pillows.  My husband walked over the the VCR and began to rewind the video.  Son #1 looked at the VCR quizzically and asked.  "What are you doing?"

My husband replied.  "I'm rewinding the video."

"Why are you rewinding the video?"  Son #1 inquired.

"You have to rewind the video so you can watch it again later."  My husband answered.

"You do?!"  Son #1 exclaimed, shocked that videos must be rewound in order to view them again.

Then, it occurred to my husband that our sons live in a world of instant gratification.  If you want to watch a movie, all you have to do is select the movie on Netflix, Hulu, or any other site through internet TV.  Our boys will never experience trekking out to the video store and perusing the aisles until they find a movie that looks interesting.  They will also never experience renting movies for a quarter on 25 cent movie night.  Everything is at the touch of their finger tips.  It is weird how times have changed.

Oh well.  I guess that's the way things go.

When my boys have their own children, they will wistfully remember the days of iPads and Tablets.  Their kids will probably ask.  "What's a touch screen, Daddy?" and "Why is it so flat?"

Here's to longing for the days of yore.

Bedtime

Tonight like every other night, Son #2 began to get ready for bed.  I bathed him in soothing warm water.  He lay in the water and blew bubbles as I washed his hair.  Then, I rinsed the soap off of his hair and body.  While the tub emptied out, I wrapped my wiggly toddler in a fluffy towel.  Lotion was applied to his baby soft skin so that it would not dry out.  Then, I went in search of his pajamas.

After both of my boys were dressed for bed, my husband and I sat with them on the sofa to read their Bible stories.  Christmas music played in the background and the lights on the tree glowed softly.  The boys listened intently.  Soon their eyelids began to droop as we led them to their rooms.  I tucked Son #1 under his covers, hugged him, and kissed his forehead.  Son #1 and I whispered our good nights.  Then, I snuggled Son #2 into his bed.  We sang a Pete the Cat song.  Finally, I hugged him and kissed his little nose.

I whispered to my littlest son.  "Stay in your bed and go to sleep.  OK?"

Son #2 whispered a reply.  "OK."

"I love you."  I said as I crept out of his room.

I went to the living room to fold some laundry.  As I sorted through the articles of clothing, I flipped on the television to watch a little psychological thriller.  Normally, I don't enjoy those types of shows at all but this one hooked me.  Five minutes into the show, I heard a little voice.  "I need potty."

"Let's go potty."  I assured Son #2 and we hurried to the restroom.

After tucking my tiny son into his bed again, I resumed the program and continued folding the laundry.  I had just finished arranging the folded clothing into their respective piles when tiny foot steps pattered through the hallway.  I looked up and met my naughty son's eyes.  He saw the expression on my face and ran in the opposite direction to his room.  I walked to his room and saw Son #2 scrambling back to bed.  Gently, I tucked my monkey under his covers and reiterated.  "Stay in your bed and go to sleep.  OK?"

Son #2 giggled and whispered.  "OK."

Son #2 hopped out of his bed several more times.  Several more times, I sent Son #2 scrambling for his covers.  Each time, my mischievous toddler promised that he would go to sleep.  I believed him less and less every time.  Finally, my husband relieved me from the ridiculousness and set about putting our son to bed.  Again.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  Surely, my husband had some magical solution for getting our son to sleep.   

An hour passed and my husband slipped out of Son #2's room.  I smiled at him and asked.  "How did it go?" 

He grinned and replied.  "Son #2's still awake.  He'll probably be in the living room in about five minutes."  Then, my husband disappeared to his office.

Five minutes passed but Son #2 did not appear.  I shrugged my shoulders and went to my room to do a few things.  I lost track of time flipping through a magazine and fiddling with some paper work.  Then, I went to investigate the whereabouts of my youngest son.

All seemed quiet in the living room so I tiptoed into the hallway.  No errant toddler was seen in the hallway so I peered around the doorway to his room.  Son #2 saw my head pop in so he sat up and greeted me.  "Hi Mom."

Surprised, I responded.  "Lay down.  Go to sleep." 

Son #2 wiggled in his bed and kicked his legs.  He managed to kick off his blankets.  I walked over to his bed and sat down.  Then, I straightened the blankets and tucked them under his arms.  Son #2 smiled and reached for my ear.  I hugged him and gave him a kiss.  Son #2 yawned, rubbed his eyes, and then handed me a remote to the television in the living room.  I held the remote with a confused expression on my face.

Why is there a remote in his room?

Then it dawned on me. 

That little rascal has been out of bed!  He stole the remote!

Son #2 confirmed my suspicion with his next statement.  "I wanu watch Bobbie."  (Translation:  I want to watch Bob the Builder.)

Yeah Buddy.  I don't think so.

I'm Ready!

A few weeks ago, our little family was getting ready to run an early morning errand.  The boys' eyelids were drooping as they groggily stumbled out of bed.  My husband and I quickly dressed.  Then, we set about gathering our checkbook and other items necessary for the trip.

Son #1 shouted out.  "I'm ready!"  He had thrown on some shorts, a t-shirt, and some tennis shoes.  His hair was standing on end so my husband suggested.  "You need a hat.  Your hair is sticking up."  Son #1 scurried to his room to find his ball cap.

The minute hand ticked continuously as we meandered throughout the house.  Neither my husband or I have any sense of time so urgency to leave the house is relative.  I got distracted rinsing a few dishes while my husband checked his auctions on an MMORPG.  The acronym means mass multi player online role playing game.  (Yeah.  We're nerds.  I don't care.)  Next, I fed the dog and cat as my husband rummaged through papers on his desk.

Eventually, we realized we needed to hurry so my husband called out to the boys.  "Are you ready to go?"

A tiny voice from inside Son #1's room responded.  "I'm ready!"  Then, our oldest son bounded out of his room toward the garage.

Another tiny voice from inside Son #2's room echoed.  "I'm ready!"  Then, our youngest son toddled out of his room naked as a jaybird holding his pull up in one hand.

My husband and I looked at each other with amusement etched on our faces.  Then, I replied.  "You're not ready.  You're naked!"

Son #2 giggled and ran back to his room with his pull up waving in the wind.

We shook our heads and laughed.

It is only acceptable in a nudist colony to run errands naked.

The Ultimate Excuse

Son #1 absolutely despises bath time.  He is at the stage where he enjoys being dirty and stinky.  In fact, we have designated Sunday as his stinky day. 

On Sundays, he is able to do all his favorite things such as watch football, play football outside, play football with his toys in his room, and avoid taking a bath.  Son #1 takes baths at night so technically his stinky day begins Saturday night.  On Sunday nights, Son #1 must take a bath in order to be ready for school the next day.

One Sunday after watching the Cowboys play, I announced that it was bath time.  Son #1 immediately shouted.  "I don't want to take a bath!"

I replied calmly but irritably.  "You have to take a bath.  You cannot go to school stinky.  Plus you're sweaty from running around all day like a chicken without a head."

Son #1 giggled for a moment but then argued.  "But I haven't had time to finish my game in my room!  I don't want to take a bath!  I don't want to go to bed!"

I gave him a withering stare and then a very effective ultimatum.  Son #1 got the message and ran with all his might to the restroom.  At the door, he shot back defiantly.  "I don't want to be clean!"  However, Son #1 did hop into the soapy water in the tub.

I gave Son #1 some time to cool down.  Then, I entered the bathroom and sat down beside him.  "How are you doing?"  I asked kindly.

"Good."  Son #1 gave a short reply.

"Have you washed your hair?"  I inquired.

"No.  But I washed my body."  Son #1 answered.

"Did you wash with soap?"  I asked.

"Y-e-e-s-s."  Son #1 replied with a touch of annoyance.  Then, he said.  "I don't like taking baths."

"Oh really.  You need to take baths otherwise you'll stink."  I said.

"Nuh Uh!  I shouldn't have to take baths."  Son #1 shot back.

"Why do you say that?"  I asked curiously.

"BECAUSE!  Cowboy fans don't have to take baths!"  Son #1 explained.

I shudder at the idea.

Poop in the Hand Leads to Bad Ju Ju

Son #2 is in the process of potty training...again.  During the summer, he potty trained and grasped the basic concept.  However, toward the end of the summer Son #2 resisted using the toilet and reverted back to pooping his pants.  This, of course, was out of pure defiance.

The other day, my husband and I were watching our youngest son run naked through the house.  He was doing well getting to the toilet when he needed to urinate.  Yet, we noticed he had not pooped at all that day.  Trouble was coming.

All of a sudden, my husband noticed Son #2's face turning bright red.  He grunted and squatted to the floor.  My husband shrieked.  "Poo poo in the potty!"  Son #2 stopped for a moment to look questioningly at my husband.  Then, my husband grabbed our little son's arm and rushed him to the restroom.

While all this was going on, I sat in the rocking chair reviewing data from my place of employment.  From my seat, I could hear the following events.

My husband encouraged.  "Hurry Son.  You need to poo poo in the potty."

Son #2 scrambled to the potty but took his time climbing onto the seat.

My husband shouted.  "No Son!  Nooooo!"

I could hear Son #2 whisper in a tiny voice.  "Oh no."  One could only assume that Son #2 missed the toilet and that a large turd lay on the bathroom floor.

Then, I heard my husband call out.  "I've got poop on my hands!?!"  I collapsed into a fit of laughter.

With a hint of irritation, my husband yelled.  "That's not funny!"

"It is to me!"  I replied between tears and laughter.

My husband eventually disinfected the bathroom floor and our baby's bottom.  However, his revenge came to haunt me a few weeks later.

Today, Son #2 was successfully using the potty when he needed to urinate.  Comfortable in the knowledge that my child was basically potty trained, I went to my bedroom to finish the laundry.  I should never have left the main living quarters.  My small toddler was running around with a shirt and a bare bottom.  That always spells trouble.

Ten minutes into folding laundry, I heard a little voice call my name.  "Mama!  Mama!  I poo pooed."  I glanced around the corner and saw Son #2's legs covered in excrement.  He was standing in the living room yet I did not see the turd.  Where could it be?

I walked down the hallway to his room investigating the carpet.  So far, everything was still clean.  Then, I entered his room and saw what can only be describe as my husband's revenge upon me.  Poo was everywhere.  Upon a second investigation of my small child, I discovered the feces was also on his hands.

Quickly, I removed all the toys from the bathtub and placed my dirty child into the basin.  Then, I poured soap over his shirt and body.  Water ran from the faucet to the drain in an effort to clear the poo from the bath tub and my child's body.  Meanwhile, I worked on cleansing his room.

As always, I learn from the many mishaps that occur.  Unfortunately, I have trouble remembering the lessons.

Confucius say elevator smell different to midget.