Unnamed Son–“Your sneezes sound like hamsters.”
Sweet Boy#3–“Myths are probably just exaggerated nature.”
Sweet Boy#3–“Behold, the orb of bubbles!”
School Friend of Sweet Boy#2–“Are you (Sweet Boy#2’s) mother? He’s a good man.”
I was amazed that one of the boys knew what the word “thrall” meant. One of my boys replied in an exasperated tone and sigh of long-suffering–“Of course he knows what ‘Thrall’ means, (insert unspoken “duh” here) the son of a writer.” I loved this sweet compliment even with the snarky tone.
My lovely sister and I came back from a walk and looked out to see Sweet Boy#3 all by himself in the tree fort. “Is he stuck up there?” She asked … we watched and saw him happy and busy. “No, or there would be shouting.” Well he didn’t come down and so finally I post-holed out across the snow to check on him. Yep, he was stuck. A rope got wedged in the trap door. But instead of panicking, he was calmly sawing on the rope with a smashed pop can that he had found. What a practical little guy. And don’t worry, I got him down.
Princess Leia Freyja had not had a walk for two days and she figured out a way to let me know that her need was truly urgent. She got my attention with mournful whines and then ran to the stairs, located my walking shoes and poked them several times with her snout. Then she barreled down the stairs, picked up my snow boot in her mouth, carried it to the door and dropped it right in front of the doorknob. Who says animals can’t talk?
You know how people worry about their teenagers sneaking out and spending time with rowdy persons of questionable repute? Well, my teenager did in fact sneak out of bed. But who was the rowdy person of questionable repute that he was seeking? His own father! My son softly and slowly shut the bedroom door so that I would not catch him. Then he tiptoed out to his Dad and voiced that pressing question that is never mother approved. “Can we play video games really late together on a school night if Momma doesn’t find out?” Uh huh, and what does the camp director say???? Well, I woke up to the sound of footsteps in the hall. I stumbled out to check for burglars and beheld my son, creeping back to bed. “What time is it?” I ask with some ire. The reply: “You don’t want to know.” Well, I shooed him off to bed and left it at that. Gotta love it when Dad provides the means of being a rebel. I guess there could be worse influences in his life, right? Love that man.