BOYS

Mom is still having issues with her computer, so she sent this to me and asked me to post it. Enjoy. -Matt

Sometimes the boys in this house are just…BOYS.

This morning our house was extra wild because it was the school’s annual Snow Trip Day*. So the children got their own breakfasts while Paul and I prepared gallons of boiling water for hot chocolate and made sure everyone had their snowsuits, mittens, and extra clothes.

In the midst of this the cats started yowling. I discovered that insteadof filling their little water dish as normal, Steven, who likes to dothings weird for no reason, had put their water in a big 32-ounce sourcream container and the cats couldn’t reach it.

Then Steven wanted to fry some eggs for him and Jenny and couldn’t find his favorite frying pan so he was rattling and banging around the kitchen looking in cupboards, drawers, and pantries. Some distance into this commotion I came on the scene and found that he was doing all this while holding three eggs in his hands. No disasters, thankfully, but a few choice words from Mom.

Then Ben won the RIWSBI** award for the morning. Somebody had put bread in the toaster, and it was burning. I yelled at Ben to quick put it underwater before it smoked up the kitchen. So he grabbed a cup of water and started pouring it INTO THE TOASTER. Mercifully he did not get zapped to kingdom come but I’m afraid he also heard a few choice words from Mom.

Quote of the Day: "At least they make me look calm and responsible."
--Emily

*Here in Oregon you can have green grass and 50 degrees, but if you drive for an hour you can be up in the mountains in a different climate and lots and lots of snow. Still seems very odd to this Midwesterner.

**Rub It Where She Bumped It. This is a family legend by now. One evening when Jenny was about 6 months old I set her on the floor and told 13-year-old Matt to watch her while I quick put a hem in a dress. I heard a thump. Jenny started crying. "What happened?" I said." She fell and bumped her head," Matt said." Well, do something," I said, busily sewing. "Rub it where she bumped it or something." Jenny kept crying. I turned around. There was Jenny sitting on the floor crying, and there was Matt on his knees earnestly rubbing the edge of the cupboard. "Matt, WHAT are you doing??" "You SAID, ‘Rub it where she bumped it.’" He was serious.