They call me Mello Yellow

Earlier in the day,  I had commented (in a smoochy, Mom-like way) how the boys looked so cute when they dressed alike.  They gave a quick glance at each other's yellow t-shirts (which really looked nothing alike except for the color) and went back to their zombie/video/computer/destruction game.

Come evening, we decided to walk to get ice cream cones.
"I'll buy!" I volunteered.  And I excused myself to get some cash and my shoes.

Now, when you are wearing a shirt that is similar in color to a shirt someone else is wearing, you don't really notice because you don't really see your own shirt.  In this case, each of the boys would see one yellow shirt.

So, it surprised me that neither of them said anything when I came out of my bedroom also wearing a yellow shirt.  Because each of them would now see two yellow shirts.

But, no.
No comments about it whatsoever.
I *so* wanted to say something, but I imagined the humor could only build the longer and farther we all walked together, so I smirked to myself as we all headed out down the sidewalk.

How far did we get before either of the boys noticed how the trio of us might have looked like a tiny brood of ducks?
Down the street.
Across the high school parking lot.
Past the park where the July 4th carnival was buzzing away.
Up to the ice cream shop.
Eating our cones on the way back home.

Nothing, I tell you!
Nothing!

Until...

Finally, we approached our own door.
Elder Son happened to glance over at the car parked in the driveway, and he caught the reflection of himself and his younger brother.
"Oh wow," he said.  "We really do look alike."
"I wondered how long it would take you guys to notice."
"What?"
"I changed my shirt special so I could match."

Elder Son then opened his eyes and saw what I was wearing.  There was a brief flicker of understanding as he realized how many people would have seen us three together.
And, horror above horrors, how cute we would have been.
"Oh my GOD!  And you wonder why I don't want to be seen in public with you!"

Heh.

"What I learned in Summer School"

The 11-year-old took a woodworking class for summer school this year.
He was hoping to make some projects like his big brother made in "tech ed" during the school year: a mechanical pencil, a desk set, a giant clothespin paperweight.

Well, they made a very nice project: A bean bag toss game.
They made a set of two, so two players or teams can stand across from each other.
It's a decent set; sturdy, large, and collapsible.

The 11-year-old learned to use several shop tools (I forget which ones; I'm a girl and I don't remember their names). But, come the third week of summer school, he lost interest in woodworking.
"All I did today was sand. I wanted to make my own project, but everybody does one part of it. And I got stuck sanding."
"Maybe your teacher is really teaching you karate without you knowing it," I suggested. "You know, 'Wax on, wax off''."

He was unamused.

On the last day of class, he lugged home these two large apparatuses, and we all enjoyed several rounds of bean bag toss.
I tried to make him feel good about the class, pointed out the nice job he did, the great game we all could play, and how many tools he now know how to use.

But all he could say was how he disliked sanding all day.
"How would you like to do that for eight hours a day, every day, for a job?" he husband asked.
"I would not like that. At. All."

So, the 11-year-old learned a great lesson this summer.
He learned he does not like assembly work.

Excellent!
Here's one for the college fund!

No time to make dinner

Perhaps the husband and I are working too many hours if the children are saying we take them to eat at McDonald's too often.

Hm...

The Magic Word is Not "Please"

Breakfast. Waffles. Cartoons on TV while we eat.

Husband: Pass the syrup, please.

Children: *no response*

Husband: Please pass the syrup!

Children: *no response*

Husband: HEY! PASS THE SYRUP!

Children: *jump nervously* What?

Syrup is passed. Dust settles. Cartoons continue.

Me: If you wanna talk to the kids when they're watching TV, go at it like ice fishing. To get to the fish, you've gotta drill a hole first. You've gotta say something to break through the ice.

Husband: Oh. So, I should say... ice cream!

Children: *no response*

Husband: Or... apple pie!

Children: *no response*

Me: Once you drill the hole, you've gotta drop the hook right away before it freezes over. Like this: Chuck-E.-Cheese-pass-the-strawberries.

12-year-old: *blinks, passes strawberries* Why are you talking about pizza at breakfast?


The boys still don't know why their parents fell on the floor laughing.

College Fund / Therapy Fund

Most parents try to maintain a college fund for their children.
The husband and I joke that we have also started a therapy fund.

You know, so the kids can go to therapy to undo all the damage we're causing.
Because we so love to mess with them.


(Dang it, I was just thinking of an example, but now I forgot. Don't worry, there will be some... eventually. We play with the children's minds quite a bit, but they're starting to catch on. I fear the retaliation when I'm an old, feeble-minded lady.)

Morning workout - Let's build character!

The husband woke the boys up early this morning and told them to shovel the sidewalks before breakfast.
Oh, the husband had a beautiful dream...
(cue harps)
I would make breakfast while the boys worked, and right at the time they finish with the sidewalks, I'd be serving a nice, warm meal for them.

Riiiiight.

So, the husband set the wheels in motion...
And then he left for work.

Thanks, honey.

Yup.
Left me with the bleary-eyed pair of children.
Fortunately, one child had already built some character over the summer, so he went about his business quietly.

The other child, however, whined and pouted and threw himself on the floor numerous times.

It was almost humorous.
And since I'd had a full night's sleep, it was humorous... to me.

Because of all the posturing, Elder Son was dressed and shoveling long before Younger Son... which made Younger Son think Elder Son would just do all the work.

Heh.

Riiiiight.

Long story short, there was some discussion over who did their fair share and someone had to go back outside and finish his job when he thought he was already done.

There was great wailing and gnashing of teeth.

But in the end, we had built some character.

(Of course it would have been much easier and much faster if the husband or I had just done the job ourselves, but you and I know that shoveling the sidewalk was not the chore that needed to be done this morning.)