Although not encouraged, these kinds of demonstrations of Hulk-like strength are not terribly uncommon around here. Otherwise, the boys generally get along. We’ve talked to them – and will likely continue to do so ad nauseam – about the virtues of managing their actions, particularly when they’re feeling angry or frustrated or humiliated, and want to lash out.
Jack preordered a game for his Xbox some time ago and has been ticking off the days until its arrival.
Our Amazon account is actually set up to deliver to Mike’s office, which ensures someone’s always available to sign for a delivery. Depending upon your perspective, this arrangement has additional upsides.
I do love the man for many reasons. He knows my coffee drink from Starbucks, he does laundry, and he’s always willing to more pressing matters aside in order to punk our children. Following is his latest work for your happy Tuesday:
When I was twelve years old, I snuck a copy of The Amityville Horror to my room and read the whole thing in a day. Then I couldn’t sleep.
I love ghost stories. And then I hate them. That night I woke up and left my room with the intention of going upstairs to sleep on the couch, where I would… I don’t know … get a heads up earlier if something supernatural was going on.
I’m certainly not compelled because I’m the mom who drops everything for her kid. I don’t have time to fill and I don’t actually like sports. I was the girl in high school PE who flinched when the ball came at her. I haven’t checked since to see if I’ve improved. Until recently, I’m not sure I’d ever worn a mitt.
I hope to save my kids from this fate by constantly exposing them to sports. At the slightest mention of interest, I sign them up. But kids sports require parental involvement, and I can’t afford a stunt double.
At the parent meeting for Colin’s first season in Little League, the coach passed around sign-up sheets. The snack form was full when it got to Mike and me. I signed up to sell raffle tickets. Then coach asked for two umpire volunteers.