I’m your Son!

Tonight while trying to make dinner Ruby started crying. She was in her swing on the dining room table. Tommy and Lucas were fighting (see prior post on fighting) over poker chips.

Ruben: Boys, is that your sister crying?!
Tommy: Yes
Lucas: Yes
Ruben Walked into the dining room from the kitchen. . .
Ruben: What are you boys dong?
Tommy: Playing Poker.
Ruben: What are you guys?! Knuckleheads? Your sister is crying and you just ignore her to play poker.
Lucas: Yeah.
Tommy: If I am a knucklehead, then you are a knucklehead because . . . I am your SON.

Good one Tommy!

How can they hate water so much when they were in it for 10 months!

Two nights ago, Ruby had her first bath. If she could talk I imagine it would have gone something like this.

Me: OK Ruby, you are going to have your first bath.
Ruby: What is she talking about?
Me: Ruben take lot’s of pictures
Into the water she goes
Ruby: What the hell is this?!
Ruby: What is that annoying flashing light, I can’t see. Get me out of here!

Yeah, she pretty much hated it. We’ll try again tonight but chances are she’ll hate it for another couple of months. Personally, I think it’s adorable how mad they get.

The day started with a 5K

Flashback to 2 weeks ago.
Tommy: Mom, I want to run the 5K on the fourth of July with Dad.
Me: Uh, OK Tommy but have you ever run 1 mile?
Tommy: No.
Me: . . .

Today started with Tommy and Ruben running a 5K. THEY RAN THE ENTIRE THING! Not sure if you quite understand so I’ll rephrase; Tommy, my 7 year old and Ruben ran an entire 5K AND finished it. I AM PROUD.

The remainder of the day was filled with swimming (lots of it) friends, family, food and drink . . . It was a recipe for pure fun and I should have enjoyed every moment of it.

Instead I endured.

I worried, I panicked, I was anxious. I worried about the kids in the pool, although there were plenty of adults to supervise. I panicked when it was time to cook and get everyone fed, although it was only burgers and dogs and my anxiety levels were crazy high all day long. As everyone was sitting down to eat I opened a beer and finally sat poolside to watch my kids play in the pool.

Eli started jumping from the big rock in the pool when just 1 week ago he would not even get off of the stairs. Lucas continues to improve his swimming (without a vest!), diving all the way to the bottom of the deep end for diving toys. Tommy goes without saying he is a pro and swims like a fish.

Ain’t that the truth.

Our pastor at our church said this past weekend while talking about parenting, “I am the youngest of 5 boys. I was born in a fist fight. I had to scrap for cheerios at the breakfast table.”

From sun up to sun down in my house you’d think you were in a UFC ring. There is always a fight of some kind going down. Pillow fights, karate fights, kickboxing fights, punching fights . . . usually ending in tears. You’d really think that after the 100th time of getting knocked down, pushed around and bruised up that they’d decide it’s just not worth it. NOPE, no way! There is just something about boys that compels them to beat on each other mercilessly and practically from birth. When my 2-year old, Eli, was about 1 1/2 he knew how to say, “Oh Yeah. Piece of me?”, all the while gesturing with his hands to come and get him (translation: You want a piece of me?)

As I am typing, there is a full out WAR going on in my bedroom. Tommy and Eli came out crying and the perpetrator this time was Lucas.

Ruben: Lucas! What did you do to them?!
Lucas: I jumped on them, and jumped on them, and jumped on them, . . . .
Ruben: Do you think that’s funny?
Lucas: YES!
In the background, I snicker and contain my laughter with my hand over my mouth.

“I am the youngest of 5 boys. I was born in a fist fight.” Ain’t that the truth!

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