Sadly, my boys remembered their father’s example from six long years ago regarding the making, aiming and firing of spit wads. Just Great. I’m not sure what restaurant we were in when the boys each pilfered extra straw “guns”. Regardless, the slimy ball wars continued for three days and I keep throwing away any straw I find. On Sunday night at a concert at church, they actually pulled the straws out of their pockets and started gumming up some paper. Militant mom confiscated all weapons before havoc was had. I haven’t seen any today…. day five, so maybe we’re over this annoying ammunition activity. Here’s hoping!
On Sunday, the height of the spit wad wars, Keeve had a friend over and they, along with Austin, went out front to spit at each other. That’s really what it is. Gummy, chewed up paper towel balls fired at one another, but “not at their heads”, so I’m told.
My dry and thirsty plants in the front yard were calling to me so I ventured out-of-doors to relieve them and happened on the spit wad war. To my surprise, my five-year-old nephew was also “playing”. Before I made myself known, I secretly listened to the verbal exchange and rules that were being made. Here’s how it went down:
5 yo: Hey, guess what! Can I play with you guys? (He says GUESS WHAT before every sentence… to keep us guessing.)
13 yo: Sure, you can be the target.
(Laughter by two 11 year olds and the smart alec 13-year-old.)
5 yo: (naively, cluelessly) Ok, what do I do?
13 yo: You just run around.
5 yo: (innocently, trustingly) OK!
Enter: Mom… and Auntie Linda, as the case may be. I see the 5-year-old start to run away from the older boys as he says to me, “Auntie Linda, Guess what! I get to be the target!……… OWWW! Something hit me on the back of my head. I felt that!” (turning and glaring at the older boys.) Back to me with joy and glee in his big brown eyes, “They are letting me play with them!….. OWWW!” He reaches up to his neck and pulls off a slimy ball of gnawed on paper towel.
Being the mom, I gave a few pointed instructions… to the older boys and then went to water my parched posies. Raising boys is so FUN!
Side note: a nameless son of mine went to sleep over at a friend’s house yesterday. He had packed a small bag… really small, so I asked what was in there for his overnight adventure. “A clean shirt and shorts,” he replied proudly. That may seem all fine and good IF YOU’RE A BOY! “Did you pack underwear or socks?” “NO! (with an amazed and shocked tone at how stupid my question was) I’m only going for one night!” The caveman. Who raised this kid of mine? Positively Cro-magnon…. the same scivvies and socks two days in a row! More than likely, he remembered to put straws in the bag. Sheesh.
My Sister's Jar 