Future car thief?

I'm not one of those moms who spends time daydreaming about what her child will be when he grows up. (Most days, I'm just looking forward to him growing up!) And since we've graduated from the "I'm going to be a fireman-dump truck driver-garbage collector-excavator operator" phase, I rarely have conversations with Luke about what he expects he'll become someday. But after our trip to the grocery store this afternoon, I have to wonder.

As I unloaded the bags into the back of the van, he climbed in the side door, ostensibly to buckle up and get ready to roll. But he was taking his time, looking, I thought, into the car next to ours. After making sure there wasn't someone (doing something interesting, perhaps) in there, I went on with my unloading, content that something (even if it was snooping) other than conversation with me was entertaining him. But as I climbed in on my side of the car, Luke called me over.

"Mama," he said. "It's not very safe to have a car with a keypad like that." This particular car had a set of numbered buttons (1/2, 3/4, 5/6, 7/8, 9/10) on the driver's side door. "Anyone, even a kid like me, could figure out how to unlock it. 1/2, 7/8, 9/10."

"What makes you think that's the code?" I asked, chuckling a little that he could never understand how many possible combinations of numbers could open that door.

"Well, the 1/2, 7/8, and 9/10 buttons are all worn out, but the others are brand new."

Oh dear.

Feeding time!

I guess after seeing me nurse Noah for the past 11 months, Benjamin figured it was high time to feed his turtle the same way.

With boppy pillow in tow, he stated, "I'm going to feed Kai some milk from my tummy."

It was inevitable, really. The picture appointment scheduled for tomorrow morning must be postponed. The annual summer shot of my one, or two, or three suntanned/ghost white kids with blond highlights/red hair will be delayed until next week, or the next, until their tans fade and the highlights disappear and we might as well wait for the Christmas picture.

Why is it that scheduling a picture automatically results in some sort of major catastrophe marked by obvious injury to the face?

At least I can appreciate the sad humor in this latest episode. This particular picture eve, my 5 1/2 year old was playing "camel," a favorite game at our house whereby one drapes a large, heavy blanket over oneself and is led about the house by a sibling. You know, like a camel. Unfortunately, this particular camel set out on a jaunt without his guide. Shockingly, within moments, he tripped and fell, chin first, into a low bookcase. Camel down. Many tears and some blood. Large bruise on chin. Picture cancelled. Maybe next week.

Not Exactly

As school gears up and the summer winds down, I thought I'd share my favorite moment from the summer:

We were at the beach with friends, and after spending the whole morning out in the sun, had decided to pack it up and head back to the house for lunch and some down time. With four kids and three adults, there was plenty to pack up. Blankets, chairs, umbrella, towels, snacks, water bottles, buckets, shovels...you know the drill. So we packed up, rinsed children, divided up loads to carry, and started up the beach to walk across the street and down the block to the house. Luke stopped me and whispered in my ear: he had to pee. Of course. It's almost as predictable as the snowsuit.

"Run back down to the water and pee in the ocean. Quickly." He looked shocked. In the ocean?

"But people will see me!" he protested. I assured him no one would know, everyone does it, etcetera, etcetera. "But everyone will be watching!" I was getting fed up; don't kids always pee in the water, even when they're not supposed to? I urged him to hurry up.

Dutifully if doubtfully, he ran off, all the way back down the beach to the ocean. As the rest of us stood all loaded up with our gear, watching along with everyone else on the beach, it occurred to me why Luke was so concerned...but I was too late to stop him as he ran to the waxing and waning edge of the water and pulled down his swimsuit.

(On second thought, you're right, honey. Everyone did see, and no, everybody doesn't do that.)

Hard Not to Laugh

Luke ran out of jokes from his latest National Geographic Kids magazine as we drove today, so he suggested we make up our own. Not being the creative-on-the-spot type, I suggested he make them up, and he was glad to oblige. The highlights went something like this:

Luke: What did the leaf say to the bug that was eating it?
Me: Bug off?
Luke: Nooo...I don't even get that.
Me: Okay, leaf me alone?
Luke: No! Stop leafing me!

(Hmmm...)

Luke: What did the pancake say to the pan that was flipping it?
Me: See you on the flipside?
Luke: No, mom. Stop flipping me; I'm fried.

(Ummm...)

I think I might be better at writing jokes than I thought.

Want Some Olive Oil with That?

Yesterday I pushed Sam in his stroller to the grocery store. Since he started to get a bit restless as I shopped, I gave him a ball of fresh mozzarella cheese (in wrapping, of course) to keep him busy. A friend whose daughter is the same age as Sam called and I became quite engrossed in discussing appropriate food to buy for baby. I plum forgot about the cheese until when it came time to check out. When I took it from Sam and was about to hand it to the cashier I noticed that he had managed to gnaw a big hole in the bottom and help himself to a large hunk! So lessons learned for me: a) no more giving Sam anything I don't want eaten as we shop b) talk less on cell phone! and c) Sam loves mozzarella cheese...and plastic! :P