The Joys of Summer

Alternate post title:  The joys of not being the one who does the laundry.

It was the second to last day of school and beautiful weather so we went to the park.  All three made a bee line for the sandbox and we ended up spending over 2 hours in that one spot.  Benjamin was on a mission to bury himself alive.  The result:

Even this covered, he wanted to go further.  "I want you to completely bury me!"  All my attempts to help him understand that being buried in sand isn't like in the winter when we buried him in snow and that he wouldn't be able to breathe were ignored until the sand was on his face.  Then he panicked, screamed, and decided covering his head was far enough.  My favorite part, though, was when three ladies walking by, thinking that there were just two little kids playing in the sandbox, jumped with shock as Benjamin emerged from the sand like the Loch Ness Monster.

Then Christian wanted in on the action too.

It was a wonderful day at the park. So happy Summer is here!

Now I've Seen It Firsthand

You know how you read those news articles about the kids who watch a movie or read a book about some really stupid thing like laying on the white dividing line on the freeway and they idiotically go do it and get killed?  I used to read those and say, "Are you kidding?  How dumb are they?  There's a big difference between reading it and doing it!"  Today I saw this behavior pattern for myself.  I thought Benjamin might enjoy a book that I read as a kid - "How to Eat Fried Worms" by Thomas Rockwell.  Especially as a boy, I thought he'd like the ick factor and get a kick out of the concept of such a bet.  Did I think he'd actually try to eat a worm?  Never.  How I underestimated the power of suggestion.  He came to me today and asked, "Could you scramble an egg for me?"  "Sure," I said, "are you hungry?"  "Sort of," came the reply, "I'm going to eat a worm."  "What?!  You understand that just because the kid in the book does that, doesn't mean you have to, right?"  He didn't listen.  "Can you have the egg scrambled by the time I get back with the worm?"  Sure.  So I scrambled the egg, salted and peppered liberally and waited.  I really thought he'd lose his nerve and not do it, but he came back with a dirt encrusted wriggling worm.  "Got the pan ready?" he asked, like we do this every day.  "Are you seriously going to throw that living creature into a hot frying pan?!"  The former vegan in me broke out in hives.  I handed him the pan, the scrambled egg, and wished him well.  I couldn't bear to see it.  Bella and Christian, however, were on him like glue.  They offered to serve as witnesses.  According to their testimony, he rinsed off the worm, threw it into the bowl of scrambled egg, stirred, and poured it into the hot pan.  When the egg and worm were cooked, he got a plate and sat down with a knife and fork, and calmly began to eat.  The screams of "EEWWWWW!" and "UGGHHHHH!"  from the two of them, convinced me that he really was doing it.  When they screamed, "HE DID IT!" I came back into the room and found:

Some egg remained, but no worm.  He claimed, "I couldn't even taste the worm!  It tasted great!  The kid in the book should really have made it like this rather than just always covering them in ketchup and mustard. It's too bad there's no school anymore.  Now I can't go and tell anyone that I ate a worm!"  I really need to think through my book recommendations better next time. :)