Snakes and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails...and Whoopee Cushions
My whole life I have listen to my mother say, "I never wanted boys! I'm so glad I had girls." She grew up with 5 brothers and has seen first-hand what little boys are capable of. She knew (due to her severe lack of a sense of humour) that she would never be able to handle boys of her own. Honestly, the roughhousing my dad participated in with his girls was even too much for her. I remember one trip to Disney World. We were getting a little restless after the daily 8 hour drives to Florida so after checking into a Days Inn somewhere between Ohio and Tennessee a wrestling match broke out, just for fun. Mom sat on one of the double beds and transitioned rapidly between uttering silent prayers not to get kicked out and yelling, "John! You're going to hurt one of them and then I have to listen to them crying, Knock it off!!!!" The match was terminated when I got wedged between the second double bed and the wall and Dad had to pry me out. There was none of the crying that Mom predicted though.
My husband likes to wrestle with the Buddies. There is rarely a day when there isn't a full event worthy of a ring and television cameras. The Buddies get such a kick out of tag-teaming Dad and "takin' 'im dooowwn!!!!" I ususally sit on the couch and transition between silent prayers for a truce and yelling, "One day they're going to be bigger than you and then you'll be sorry!!!" Yes, I am painfully aware that I occasionally turn into my mother. To put it lightly, it drives me up the wall. The yelling, the screaming, the cries for help...then I pull the Buddies off and calm the big baby down.
It doesn't stop at wrestling. They love practical jokes too. The meaner the better. I, personally, hate practical jokes so it only makes sense that I married a master. Hubby is discerning most of the time. He plays his tricks on only those who would appreciate them, namely, the Buddies. They're learning from the best and taking it all in. About a month ago I bought a fresh role of hockey tape. While Canadian Tire and the rest of the world see this clear adhesive as hockey tape, Hubby views it as waxing strips. The package wasn't open 5 minutes when Buddy #2 was laying flat on is stomach making "laughing" noises that only a mother can recognize as panic. Hubby tore off a long strip and applied it to the small of my baby's back then ripped it violently off! Buddy #2 stood up after the attack and proclaimed that it didn't "actually" hurt that bad. So, of course, Buddy #1 wanted a go. Hubby picked him up and laid him on his stomach. But when he ripped the strip off Buddy #1 let out a howl! "What are you talking about?! That really hurt!" He angrily accused his brother. Buddy #2, logical as ever, replied, "Well, you are 2 minutes older. Obviously, you have more hair."
Unfortunately, the Buddies don't have the same discernment as Hubby. Buddy #1 was very excited to come shopping with me this week as Hubby had given him a little bit of money to spend on "whatever he wanted." Not surprisingly he decided he wanted a whoopee cushion. I hate whoopee cushions too. But I brought him into the dollar store to find the coveted item. I could almost see the little dream bubble above his head swimming with the imaginations of all the fun he could have with it...disgusting. He picked it up off the shelf and followed me to the cash register. When I turned to lead the way, I missed seeing the dream bubble that showed WHO he was going to have fun with. From behind me I heard the unmistakable sound that comes from a rubber, air-filled bag when it is compressed. So did everyone else in the store. They also heard my child practically yell, "Aw, MOM!!" while fanning his hand in front of his nose. Mortified, I grabbed the whoopee cushion and (more loudly than he had spoken) I threatened to put it back. He apologized, out loud, and silently I vowed to make Hubby do all the dollar store trips from now on.
My husband likes to wrestle with the Buddies. There is rarely a day when there isn't a full event worthy of a ring and television cameras. The Buddies get such a kick out of tag-teaming Dad and "takin' 'im dooowwn!!!!" I ususally sit on the couch and transition between silent prayers for a truce and yelling, "One day they're going to be bigger than you and then you'll be sorry!!!" Yes, I am painfully aware that I occasionally turn into my mother. To put it lightly, it drives me up the wall. The yelling, the screaming, the cries for help...then I pull the Buddies off and calm the big baby down.
It doesn't stop at wrestling. They love practical jokes too. The meaner the better. I, personally, hate practical jokes so it only makes sense that I married a master. Hubby is discerning most of the time. He plays his tricks on only those who would appreciate them, namely, the Buddies. They're learning from the best and taking it all in. About a month ago I bought a fresh role of hockey tape. While Canadian Tire and the rest of the world see this clear adhesive as hockey tape, Hubby views it as waxing strips. The package wasn't open 5 minutes when Buddy #2 was laying flat on is stomach making "laughing" noises that only a mother can recognize as panic. Hubby tore off a long strip and applied it to the small of my baby's back then ripped it violently off! Buddy #2 stood up after the attack and proclaimed that it didn't "actually" hurt that bad. So, of course, Buddy #1 wanted a go. Hubby picked him up and laid him on his stomach. But when he ripped the strip off Buddy #1 let out a howl! "What are you talking about?! That really hurt!" He angrily accused his brother. Buddy #2, logical as ever, replied, "Well, you are 2 minutes older. Obviously, you have more hair."
Unfortunately, the Buddies don't have the same discernment as Hubby. Buddy #1 was very excited to come shopping with me this week as Hubby had given him a little bit of money to spend on "whatever he wanted." Not surprisingly he decided he wanted a whoopee cushion. I hate whoopee cushions too. But I brought him into the dollar store to find the coveted item. I could almost see the little dream bubble above his head swimming with the imaginations of all the fun he could have with it...disgusting. He picked it up off the shelf and followed me to the cash register. When I turned to lead the way, I missed seeing the dream bubble that showed WHO he was going to have fun with. From behind me I heard the unmistakable sound that comes from a rubber, air-filled bag when it is compressed. So did everyone else in the store. They also heard my child practically yell, "Aw, MOM!!" while fanning his hand in front of his nose. Mortified, I grabbed the whoopee cushion and (more loudly than he had spoken) I threatened to put it back. He apologized, out loud, and silently I vowed to make Hubby do all the dollar store trips from now on.
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