Let's Review

So, reviewing the rules from Practice Christmas, I asked Bubba, "What do we say if we open a present and we don't like it?"

Without missing a beat as he concentrated on building his Lego dudes, "Thank you, and better luck next time."

Guitar Hero

We expose the boys to a lot music, which is why you see videos of them moving along to Johnny Cash , Nickleback, Alan Jackson, and...

ZZ Top.



I know they are my children and all, but I can't watch Bubba play his Gee-tar without beaming. And notice Mooser trying to 'take a bow' at the beginning rather than at the end? Oh, don't tell anyone that I let my children stand on our coffee table (an old handmade chest). Well, it does make a pretty awesome stage.

Cold Winter Days and Nights

What do you do on cold winter days and nights?

We do puzzles. Play games. Watch movies. Make Lego guys (virtual and otherwise). We work (grudgingly).







We walk on old railroad tracks. Watch parades. Decorate. Watch the cat torture a cute brown mouse (and then set it free because we can't bare to watch her kill it).












We see Santa (several times at several places). We ring bells for the Salvation Army. We freeze our asses off.







(Yes I realize my son is wearing cowboy boots with sweatpants. And that is a reindeer!)

And my favorite thing to do? We rock out (country style)!



(Beware of my Yee Haw towards the end. A little embarrassing maybe, but worth that smile I get. Sorry for the cell phone quality--it's one of the few ways I can get videos/pictures of my kids without them knowing.)

Makes Sense

Moosie: I pick out yogurt. No want girl yogurt. Boy yogurt!

He huffs over to the dairy section in the grocery store and forcefully selects the pink strawberry Dora yogurt.

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Thirty minutes after a temper tantrum in which he threw all of the sheets and blankets off of our bed:

Bubba: How are the covers going to get back on the bed?

Me (hoping daddy would do it since I was laying down in the bed): I don't know. You threw them off the bed, so you figure it out.

Bubba: Well, first the green sheet goes down, then when that covers us flat, then the blanket goes on top, and then...

Guess they showed me.

Strange Dreams?

Daddy stirred Bubba when he tried moving the heavy 8-year-old out of our bed. Bubba popped up:

Daddy...What's an evergreen tree?

It's a tree that stays green all year, even in winter...like a Christmas tree.

I have a fancy Christmas tree. It's silver.

And then he was out.

Politics

Bubba has been curious about the presidential race. We have been counting signs in the neighborhood, tallying them, using our estimates to decide the winner on November 4th. Bubba and Moosie have been exposed to the debates, and they watched each debate for a few minutes and asked us questions.

According to Bubba, Obama should win because we have had "too many white presidents." He decided this after we looked through a book of past presidents. McCain almost had him with his military background, but lost Bubba's vote because he doesn't "want a girl assistant." As awful as it sounds, the reasoning behind this is simply because, like most 8-year-old boys, he "doesn't like girls."

Even if you don't think they are, the kids are listening...to the political ads, the off-color discussions, the media coverage, the debates and rallies, and everything in between.

Who did the kids pick?

Drainage

Bubba has been picking at his nose a lot lately and seems to have a irritating cough. Thinking maybe he has postnasal drip, I asked him if he felt anything going down his throat. He pondered for a moment and then stated matter of factly: "Just my spit. And my brain. That's it." I'm guessing that is a "yes" to the postnasal drip question.

What's the story?

School has not been going well. I am beginning to see why Bubba hates the third grade.



So he told the story, and apparently there is no problem with it--the birds were happy with the situation, so why create a problem where there is none? And come on, what's a story without "the end"?

Maybe I just find this funny because I am on narcotics and antibiotics and I am still coughing myself into a constant migraine. In anycase, don't tell Bubba that I hate third grade too...well at least I really, really dislike it!

Invisible Disability

My boys are very good natured, compassionate, accepting, and honest...they just don't have a lot of tact. This often leads to a lot of "kid's say the darnedest things" moments and some pretty funny situations.

We were at a family reunion yesterday when Hubby's mom introduced a little girl whose arm did not develop past her elbow. Bubba immediately went up, grabbed her arm, inspected it, and asked incredulously "Do you have an invisible arm?!?!?!" He started to go for her shorts to look for it.

The girls grandmother was speechless. I, just approaching the introduction, lightly pressed my hand on Bubba's shoulder and reminded him that he shouldn't touch people without their permission. Bubba's grandma had a knee jerk reaction and quickly delivered: "He has brain damage--like a stroke." Apparently Bubba gets his lack of tact from his grandma.

Later I pulled Bubba aside and we talked about the little girl's disability in the context of his disability (she was born without part of her arm, he was born without his corpus callosum). We discussed how he didn't need to worry about any differences and that it wasn't nice to point out the differences because it might make people feel uncomfortable. When he brought out his cars and she asked to play, he stood nobly and stated "Yes you can play with my cars. And I don't care what happened to your arm!" And that was that, and they played happily until it was time to eat.

Hot damn! or You just can't make this stuff up

Bubba is quite the swimmer. He was bobbing around in the 10 foot section of the pool and then yelled in a loud irritated voice: "How come I can only dog paddle? When will I be able to paddle like a human?!?!"

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Bubba stepped on some pavement with bare feet. He jumps off and then says proudly: "That's really hot...damn hot!"

I thought maybe I had heard him wrong: "What did you say?"

"Uh, 'damn hot'. That means it's really hot. See? Touch it. It's really hot, so it's damn hot!"

Me, pondering if I should just let it be or make it a teaching moment: "But you shouldn't say that. It's not a nice word."

Bubba, completely puzzled: "'Really hot' is not OK to say?"

Me, repeating the offending word: "No, 'damn' is a word only adults can say."

Bubba, even more confused: "Why can't kids say 'damn'? Why can't kids say 'damn' if it means 'really hot'?"

Sigh... damned if I know.

Vocabulary

Bubba has a tendency to make up words. Or use them in different ways. And sometimes, no matter how many times we model the right word or provide the right word when he asks, he just can't get the "Bubba-ism" out of his vocabulary. For example, he still calls "boogers" "burgers." For about one week he had it right, and then it never returned. "Zombies" are "zomblies" (I have no idea why that word comes up at least weekly, but it does!).

May I introduce a new Bubba-created vocabulary word? I think it might just catch on. You know when a dvd has been manhandled enough that it looks like a werewolf got ahold of it and the picture gets all "slow motion" and then jumps ahead? Well that my friends is called a "skatch" [skip + scratch I assume?].

Used in a sentence: "Mom, the dvd keeps skatching!" or "Mom, clean the movie--it has too many skatches."

Pass it on... With credit to Bubba of course. (I like his definition better than the ones on Urban Dictionary.)

Random Bits of Bubba

Me: We need to go pick up Grandma's car.
Bubba: Why?
Me: She had to drive Grandpa's car, because he had foot surgery.
Bubba: So he has a robot foot?

You think he's watched Star Wars enough?

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Bubba: Mom, did you know you can recycle milk containers?
Me: Yes.
Bubba: Did you know you can make things out of them?
Me: Yes...What do you want to make out of this one? (gesturing to the gallon jug he just emptied)
Bubba: How about we make a plastic milk container?

Makes sense to me!

How do you feel?

Bubba's cheeks were flushed, and he looked ill, so I asked: Do you feel sick?

Bubba started to frantically feel his face, head, and arms like he was searching for something: "I don't know... do I?!?!?!? Here mom. Touch me. What do I feel like? Sick?"

The funny thing about noses

Right when Bubba leaped off the bus: "Mom, is there something wrong with my nose?"

Me, quickly contemplating what I should say, or more specifically what I should not say: "Is your nose bothering you?"

Bubba, pleasantly: "No..."

Me, analyzing his nose for redness, scratches, foreign objects: "It looks OK."

Bubba, not convinced, pace quickening: "Maybe I should look in the mirror."

Me, jumping to conclusions: "Did someone say something about your nose?"

Bubba, as he analyzes his nose in the mirror with utmost intensity: "No..."

Me, trying to figure out what he's trying to figure out: "Does it hurt?"

Bubba, unsuccessfully trying to peer up his nose in the mirror: "Sometimes."

Me: When?

Bubba, matter of factly: When I put my finger in there.

So long story short, we discussed not putting fingers in our noses because that would in fact make our noses hurt. And then everyone was happy.