Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Disappearing Drinks

Since the death of our dishwasher, I have compromised with my oldest boys and have decided that if I want to make sure the pots and pans are done properly, I should do them myself.

Washing the dishes is one of those chores that makes me want to gag just because it is galling to have to do it in the first place.

I'd rather just thumb my nose at the tree huggers and buy styrofoam plates and cups.

Really. Please. A seven-person family!!

No way am I going to save the world.

Anyway, one day I was doing my duty and scrubbing away when I was distracted by throwing some things away to clear off the kitchen counter.

I came back to the sink to continue the dreaded chore and realized the washcloth had disappeared.

I'm not kidding. It was no where in sight.

Up and left.

Gone.

Like dust in the wind.

This phenomenon brought to mind a time in the past that I had forgotten about.

Our little family had gone to Mickey D's one time and Doc gave Bashful and Grumpy the job of taking the cups over to the soda pop dispenser and filling the cups with their preferred drinks.

On the way to the drink dispenser, the cups disappeared.

When Doc brought the food to our table, he questioned the boys about the cups.

"Where are the cups?" was met with dumbfounded stares.

It was amazing to Doc and me how those cups could just up and disappear on the way to the drink dispenser, for Pete's sake!

As I stood in front of the sink thinking about that little family episode and looking everywhere for my washcloth, I realized the apples didn't fall far from the tree.

Death of the Dishwasher

My dishwasher has died.

It refuses to help me out anymore, the dang thing.

I'm really mad at it. I mean, doesn't that thing understand that this is a seven person family? Does it realize how many dishes we use per day? Washing dishes by hand is a thing of the past, for Pete's sake! Not having a workable dishwasher is like going back to the dark ages.

I really tried figuring out what went wrong with it, but not being a professional plumber has decidedly not helped.

Tinkering with the stupid thing made me realize that I should've gone to trade school before I got married. Considering all the other little things that need tinkering with in this house that would have been a definite plus.

Hindsight.

After verbally blistering the machine in my kitchen for an hour, I came to the conclusion that I had to give in.

I looked on the bright side, though. I have five little dishwashers in the making.

I put the oldest two to work immediately.....with an evil, little grin.

I set to work teaching them how to do the monumental task of making sure the dishes we eat off of do not contain anymore germs.

Like potty-training, this is going to take some stubborn persistance on my part. For instance, teaching them to not to get water all over the floor.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Pillow Cases Bad

Now that Sneezy is two-years-old, he has attempted to communicate more. Sometimes, he will say words, sometimes sentences, and even occasionally the scream of outrage.

Last night, I had decided to put on a clean sheet for his crib and put a pillow case on his pillow. I had just finished with the crib sheet and began putting the pillow case on when Sneezy let out a wail of horror.

I put him in his crib and tucked him in, but the kid was still horrified by what I had done. I knew immediately it had something to do with the pillow case, but for the life of me I couldn't understand why in the world the child would not want a nice, clean, soft pillow case on his pillow to cushion his face while sleeping.

I decided to ignore the ranting and raving hoping that he would eventually realize that there is absolutely nothing wrong with having a pillow case on his pillow. I crossed my fingers and prayed the child would pass out soon.

After ten minutes of wailing, I finally went in there, grabbed the pillow, ripped the case off and said, "There! Are you happy now?"

The boy immediately shut up by putting the ever-present thumb in his mouth and cuddled with his pillow.

Yeah. I guess so.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Vivid Imagination

Fear can be quite insidious.

It creeps up on you without you realizing it is happening and then....BAM! You are thinking all kinds of crazy things.

Take for instance me and my vivid imagination.

All it takes for fear to creep in is my husband coming home late.

I like to think of myself as a usually easy-going person. I like to give my husband space. I'm sure the poor man doesn't want a nagging woman asking the five W's like a seasoned reporter the minute he walks in the door.

Of course, I'm yelling in my head at him all the same. After all, he didn't come home just a little while after his normal time.

We're talking LATE, people.

It was dark outside. The kids were getting ready for bed. I was starting to think about calling hospitals.

Of course, I'm telling myself not to worry. It's a sin to worry after all. I'm not putting my trust in God. I have to trust that my husband will be alright and nothing bad is going to happen to him. Everything is just peachy.

And then that insidious voice of fear says, "Yeah, right. He's probably all mangled up in his tiny, little unreliable vehicle after having been smashed to smithereens on the highway by a truck driver who fell asleep at the wheel."

Oh, I have all kinds of scenarios running around in my head.

By the end of the night, I had the man's funeral planned out.

Not kidding.

I had to give myself a good smack in the face after that.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Celtic Warrior

We went to visit the doctor the other day.

Of course, in our house that is not an unusual occurrence.

In this particular instance, Happy needed stitches.

The boy had decided to stand on top of a kitchen stool. Said stool decided to tip over and fall out from underneath him. The poor kid's forehead slammed into it and he bled all over himself.

Being the expert in "do we need stitches or not", I took one look at his head and knew we needed a doctor since I am not an expert in stitching up rambunctious boys. My bedside manner would be decidedly lacking.

Everything went as expected until it was time for Happy to feel the sting of the needle. Things didn't go well after that.

The doc had decided to put a paper-like material over his face while he stitched him up and Happy was not happy with that.

The kid started screaming his head off.

It wasn't the kind of "Help me, this hurts!" kind of screaming. It was the extremely angry Celtic warrior kind of screaming. It was the "How dare you do this to me!" kind of screaming.

The screams continued throughout the procedure and it rattled off the walls of the entire building. Intermittently, everyone heard, "Get this thing off of me!"

Needless to say, it was no picnic.

Of course, I felt compassion for the boy, but after the 50th scream, my patience was at an end. I ended up hissing at the child to please knock it off and sometimes not with a please.

Once the material came off his face, Happy immediately calmed down. We all breathed a sigh of relief and I rattled my ear with my finger to try and get rid of the ringing.

As soon as I could, I hustled the boy out of the building apologizing profusely to everyone all the while. I had to keep in mind that, after all, the kid is only four.

Someday, I will tell him that when he goes into battle he may be scared. I will remind him of this day and tell him that he may be scared, but he has a warrior's heart.

And a warrior doesn't let fear stand in the way.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Dust Bunnies

We seriously need a normal backyard.

You know. The kind that is fenced-in all around and six-feet tall. The gate is padlocked and no one in his right mind would dare venture forth with a German shepherd in the yard.

One that happens to be the neighborhood terror right now.

I need a normal backyard, people.

One with thick, cool grass and tall, bushy trees to give shade. Lots of them.

Instead, I've got a backyard that brings in four boys covered from head to toe in dirt after an afternoon of play.

They literally come inside looking like dust bunnies. Large ones.

Enduring their mother's horrified reaction, they are asked, "What in the world are you doing out there? Rolling around in the dirt?!" As if that were something to be looked upon as insane.

Which, to them, is an absolutely normal thing to do.

Come to find out, they like to take the tricycle to the top of the bluffs and roll down the hill.

It's all about the high-risk sports.

Who wants a normal backyard when you can fly down a hill and risk breaking your neck?

Next thing I know, they'll be jumping out of airplanes.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Bug Spray

I often wonder if the liberal testosterone running through their veins aides in the shut-down of the brain.

They are such violent creatures at times and often their hands are in permanent fists. Even Sneezy has perfected the fist with his tiny, little baby hand.

I would swear they try to think up ways to perfect their masculinity, but often they end up with escapades that border on the moronic.

I have said to myself more often than not that I am surrounded by morons.

Case in point.

Due to the extreme critter conditions we find ourselves here in southern Colorado, we have the ever-present bug spray in the garage.

This is not the kind you find in a dinky, little can. It's the kind that you carry and has a hose attached to a spray nozzle.

Heavy-duty stuff here.

After all, we want to KILL the spiders, not numb them.

We keep it high up off the floor because after all we do try to be responsible adults and keep poison out of reach of children.

It even has it in big, bold letters on the product itself: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN.

So, we thought it would be safe on top of the fridge in the garage totally not realizing that our children may be getting taller, but they still require parental supervision.

One day, 7 year old Sleepy comes to tell me his daily observations of life in general when I noticed he had a peculiar rash on his face.

My forehead scrunched in confusion and with great exasperation yelled, "What happened to your face?!"

He calmly replied that Grumpy sprayed him with bug spray. He went on to show me the various body parts that had gotten in the way as well when I pulled up his shirt to check.

"Grumpy?! Grumpy did this?"

You may well wonder why I ask this question, but I always thought Grumpy was more intelligent than this.

Thus, I wonder at this point if maybe the testosterone got in the way of his brain.

After Grumpy was found, he was brought to the firing squad.

He looked quite disconcerted to find his mother just staring at him with her mouth open and fire in her eyes for a good minute before she started into lecturing.

When his mother gets going, it could be a good ten minutes before she starts winding down. After all, this is poison we're talking about. It needs a good ten-minute lecture if not more.

All the while my mouth is streaming forth with all sorts of outraged motherly noises, I'm thinking, "Dumb. Just dumb. I'm surrounded by morons."

The I wonder about the things I don't know about.

It's enough to make me shudder.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Snake Scare

We've lived in this particular house in southwest Colorado for about three years now and have not seen the mythical creature called the rattlesnake.....until last night.

My parents have come for a visit and brought a trailer with them to the delight of the boys.

They parked it in our driveway and we all have beaten a path to and from the house.

Last night, Mom was tired and decided to call it a night. Two seconds after she walked out the door, she walks back in and nonchalantly says, "Okay. Someone go out there and kill the snake."

Pandemonium breaks out.

Everyone just has to see the snake outside and lo and behold, after some inspection to the thing on the sidewalk with big boots and a monster flashlight, the verdict was a baby rattlesnake had decided to visit.

Oh, joy.

With Unca Gug smashing it with a baseball bat and Doc holding the gun on it just to make sure, the wiggling mass of snake was finally put to rest.

I think I will be walking to the trailer on my tippy-toes next time.....and maybe I'll bring Doc's gun along with me just to be on the safe side.

VISA Solution

Grandma and Grandpa have come for a visit and they have been imparting some of their wisdom and advice to the boys.

Grandma asked the two older boys (9 and 12) if they have thought about where they will take their girlfriends on a date.

Of course, their reply was an adamant no, so Grandma decided then and there to give them some advice.

She told them to take their girls to a nice restaurant with sit-down service and nice silverware and then after that take them to a movie.

She informed them that a good date would cost them approximately $80.

Grumpy replied, "Wow! That costs about as much as a bunny rabbit!" (His mind is always full of future plans for buying his own pet rabbit.)

Grandma said they would need to get a good job so they could afford to do this.

Grumpy said, "Or I could just use a VISA."

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Ever-Lovin'

There is a phrase that I am fond of repeating.

Actually, I have no choice because the reason for my favorite phrase happens on a daily occurrence.

I have five sons who scream just to hear themselves do it.

It seems to be their favorite pastime.

Throughout the day, I am constantly yelling, "Shut up!", or "Stop it!", or "Be quiet!", or when I've really had it, "Shut the *&%$ up!"

Well, not really, but that's what I'm thinking by the end of the day while I'm grabbing my hair and pulling what is left of it by the scalp.

There are times when I've given a blow-by-blow description of my day to Doc and my usual phrase ends up in the conversation.

"He was screaming his ever-lovin' head off!"

Again, this is a daily occurrence and I am forever repeating that particular phrase.

It's no wonder that Grumpy has picked it up himself.

Sneezy was ready for his nap this morning and we all knew it was time because the child made his bad temper more than obvious.

Grumpy took it upon himself to deposit the bad-tempered tyrant in jail, er bed and shut the door.

After he trooped downstairs, he informed me, "He is screaming his ever-lovin' head off!"

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Ghastly

Ghastly.

I love that word.

It's the kind of word that you have to say with an English accent.

Ghastly.

Every time I hear it or read it, I laugh.

I can't seem to help myself. Just the sound of it rolling off my tongue emits giggles out of my mouth.

I then wonder how I can use it in my every day life.

What would I describe as ghastly?

Well, maybe the kitchen floor after dinnertime.

Yes. I would say that was ghastly.

Or, maybe the bathroom floor around the toilet after the boys have used it.

Definitely ghastly.

Even possibly, that one time when I was stranded on the road with five children and two flat tires.

That was definitely a time that exuded ghastliness.

Is that a word? If not, it should be. There are times in my life where that word should be used and laced with scathing sarcasm.

I wouldn't be averse to using it as a mild profanity, either.

It makes one feel quite brilliant actually when describing a scene that one would call revolting in the extreme.

Or just mildly disgusting.

The word ghastly should be used at all occasions of ghastliness if only to make one feel better.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Disgusting Stuff

"You know what, Mom?"

"What, Sleepy?"

"Inside your eye is disgusting stuff."

"Oh." I take a moment to laugh.

"Yeah. Bashful and Grumpy looked into my eye and said there is disgusting stuff in there."

Okay, then.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

A Round, Little Plug

One evening, while visiting my parents, I decided to give my rank toddler a bath.

I plopped him down on the floor and looking into the tub, my face scrunched into confusion. This was an older tub and didn't have any mechanism to plug it up. I knew my parents had a special plug for it, but I couldn't find it anywhere.

So, I yelled down the stairs, "Mom! Where's the plug to the bathtub?"

To prove that I am getting old in more ways than one, I thought I heard her say it was on the floor next to the tub.

The only plug I could see was the toilet plunger.

"Huh," I muttered, and grabbed it.

I stuck that dang toilet plunger into the tub to see if it would plug up.

As I pushed it down, it popped right back up and I said to Sneezy, "They can't be using the toilet plunger to plug up the bathtub."

My face was a study in confusion as I yelled down the stairs, "Do you mean the toilet plunger, Mom?" just to make sure our wires weren't crossing.

In order for her deaf daughter to hear her, she raised her voice and said, "The plug is on the shelf in the bathtub."

"Oh," and there it was. A round, little plug.

This was definitely one of my dumbest moments.
Bashful comes in the house after having a rousing, good time outside playing with some neighborhood boys.

He bypasses the kitchen and troops downstairs to the bathroom.

He happily explains to me that there is yet another boy to play with while turning on the bathroom faucet.

I interrupt his dialogue to inform him that we do have cups in the kitchen and he is quite able to fill one with water from the kitchen sink.

The boy looks at me as if I have suggested something totally incomprehensible. His expression was like, "Why would I do something like that?" and proceeded to bend over and put his mouth in the running water.

I'm raising a bunch of barbarians.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Waiting for the Mail

This morning, I announced to the boys that two new movies would be arriving in the mail soon.

Happy anticipated this with bated breath.

He even knew what time the mail lady usually arrived and asked if he could go outside and get the mail.

He put on a mismatched outfit and shoes and trudged out the door.

After a while, I came out of my daze and noticed that there was no Happy exclaiming his excitement and waving the tell-tale red envelopes in the air.

I called and called for him in the house and then Grumpy noticed that Happy was still outside.

We realized that the mail hadn't arrived yet because Happy had decided to lie down on the ground and wait for it come.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

No Time for A Sock

It was time to go to another birthday party.

We were rushing out the door as usual when I noticed that Grumpy had yet to put some socks on. I told him to go find some and went out to the car. I mentally crossed my fingers and thought, "He can find his own socks, for Pete's sake! He's nine!"

We sat in the car and waited for him to come out so that we could be on our way.

We arrived at the party all accounted for and I told the boys to take their shoes off when we got in the door.

I was talking to a friend of mine when she looked behind me and started laughing.

I turned around and there was Grumpy with only one sock on.

"Wha....where is your other sock?" I demanded huffily.

He sheepishly replied, "I couldn't find another one."

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Chocolate and Exercise

A few months back, my husband bought an exercise bike.

Oh, joy.

I pointed to the general direction of the TV and said he better put it there if he expects it to be used at all.

I love to kill two birds with one stone.

I have neglected that poor bike and dust has settled over it for the past couple (okay, maybe a few) weeks.

Last night, I discovered a box of Ghiardelli chocolate-covered pretzels.

Considering my weakness for chocolate and the empty bag this morning, maybe I should dust off that exercise bike.

Nostalgic Chicken

One beautiful summer day, Doc, the boys, and I were visiting beautiful West Virginia and my family.

We were sitting out on the deck scattered around in chairs and Mom was making dinner for us all.

She made fried chicken and homemade French fries.

We sat outside and enjoyed our feast and ever since then, I've craved that meal with more than just hunger pains.

Tonight, I'm making a dummed-down version of that meal.......shake-n-bake......because I can't make fried chicken.

I am making homemade French fries, though.

I'm going to eat this meal with Doc and the boys and I'm going to miss you, Mom.

Now, I better go before I burn it.

Friday, April 3, 2009

My Buddy

My parents have the cutest dog in the world.

He is a cocker spaniel and his name is Buddy.

He is aptly named because he is my dad's buddy. He loves cuddling with him in his favorite chair or sleeping with him in bed.

Buddy is twelve years old now and deaf as a doorknob. (or is it doornail? Whatever.)

He is a barking dog and now that he is older there are times when he doesn't realize that there are people walking their dogs on the street and my parents will get a reprieve from the ferocious barking and snarling of teeth (a little exaggerated, of course, for dramatic purposes).

He will occasionally see the passing car by chance and bark his ever-lovin' head off and I'll hear my mom yell the usual, "Buddy!" and I often wonder if he even hears her. He can still see her face, though, and the firm, no-nonsense look she gives him quiets the dog, but I can tell how hard it is for him not to bark by the continued rumbling in his throat.

While visiting about a week ago, Buddy became my cuddle buddy. This wasn't a good thing, though. That meant Buddy was lieing on the couch next to me. Which wasn't allowed.

Oops.

I should have realized since Mom's couch is white.

White.

Buddy is black as midnight and has fur as soft as the softest stuffed animal. Grumpy would have been pea-green with envy. So, when Buddy jumped onto the couch and snuggled up next to me, I thought he was allowed and it was perfectly fine with me. I enjoyed running my fingers through his silky hair.

So, when Dad told Buddy to get off the couch, I joked, "I'm just his sister. He won't listen to me."

Throughout my visit, Buddy got to be bad. I think that's why he liked me so much. We spent the whole week cuddling together on the couch.

At the end of my visit, Mom took Buddy for a walk and he came in with dirty paws. He immediately jumped onto the couch and left Buddy-size paw prints on her very white couch. Since I was in the kitchen at the time all I heard was, "Buuuudddddyyyyy!!!" in a Mother-is-exasperated-voice.

Poor Buddy. I come to visit and now he's in trouble.

Body Parts

Sleepy and I were going over body part names this morning.

He asked, "What are these bumpy things on my hands called?"

I said, "They're called knuckles."

"Oh. Where's my chest?"

I pointed to the general area.

He was quiet for a second and then pointed to his head and announced, "And this is my melon!"

Monday, March 30, 2009

Worry Wart

Our Grumpy is a little worry-wart.

I have probably contributed to this with my own anxiety over certain things.

One of the things that he worries about is gas for the car.

We are always traveling on Sundays and I am always thinking out loud to myself.

One of the things I always need to remind myself about is making sure there is enough gas.

I always seem to be daydreaming and there have been times when I've gasped aloud and wheezed, "I'm almost out of gas!"

My son knows about my notorious absentmindedness and he has probably envisioned all six of us walking down the road looking for the nearest gas station in a blinding blizzard or drenching rain.

It's not a pretty picture.

Now, he is the one who makes sure I am aware of the gas gauge.

Soon after we get in the car, I often hear, "Mom? Do you need gas?" or "Mom! Don't forget to get gas!"

Doc has pointed out to the boy that he is too young to be worrying so much.

Sweet Little Arms

Doc and the boys have had to contend with a grieving woman in the house since I came back.

Since my grandmother's funeral, I have been a blubbering mess.

Yesterday was awful.

I cried for two hours on the way to church. After Doc's beautiful sermon, I sat on the toilet in one of the bathroom stalls and sobbed. I even had to leave church a little earlier than usual in order to weep almost all the way home.

My family has been witness to this new and different woman and I'm sure they are wanting the old mom and wife back.

At one point, I was sitting on the couch in Doc's office weeping away when Sleepy came in.

He sat next to me and put his arms around me and we cuddled while I talked with Doc.

After a little while, Sleepy looked at me and said, "Mom, you look so beautiful."

I know there will be more days when I will cry for my grandmother and my family that is thousands of miles away, but it helps to have sweet, little arms wrapped around me for comfort.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Spring Break 2009

I've been away for a week visiting family.

You can tell by the look of my house.

Things have gotten a little messier and certainly crustier.

The boys had their spring break and spent their days being as lazy and carefree as possible.

Because everyone knows that doomsday is approaching and school will begin again so it's time to live it up!

They've had fun watching movies, playing PS2, and whatever sorts of games that boys play.

When I was greeted by them after a week apart, I could tell they needed a little mother's care. Happy wore jeans with gigantic holes in the knees with a shirt that didn't fit. Sleepy and Grumpy wore clothes that didn't match.

I did notice they all had socks on. Which is something.

I'm sure they've driven their father up the wall.

One time, I called and I heard the boys yelling and carrying on in the background. Bashful's shrill voice could be heard yelling, "Shut. UUUUUUP!!"

Doc told me that if he heard Sleepy yell one more time, "Dad! Happy bit me!", he was going to go upstairs and bang their heads together.

Yes. Things have been a little crazy around here without my tender-loving care. (Or you could call me the drill-sergeant.)

Grumpy even has a black eye.

Courtesy of Sleepy.

Are You My Sweetheart?

This morning, I was sitting in the front row in church with my boys.

I turned to Bashful, took his chin in my hand, and asked, "Are you my sweetheart?"

I'm his mom so I don't care that the kid is 12 years old now and I'm probably seriously weirding him out.

He didn't answer me at first and just kind of grunted.

I wasn't going to take that as an answer and stubbornly asked, "Are you my sweetheart?"

Out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered, "Yes," probably hoping no one was listening.

To embarrass him further, I squealed, "Oh, goodie!" and smothered his face with kisses.

Brain Matter

We were in the car driving home from the airport.

I had spent the week in WV and Doc and the boys were picking me up.

Sleepy and Happy were telling me what they wanted to be when they grow up.

Happy wants to be an airplane pilot and a firefighter.

Bashful's response was, "Well, you'll be rich, but you'll be so busy your brain will explode."

Sunday, March 15, 2009

I did some cleaning this week.

I went at it with a vengeance.

My kids even noticed and I got a couple comments from Sleepy and Happy.

"Hey, Mom! You went to WalMart and got new stools!" exclaimed Sleepy.
"Uh, no, son. I just cleaned them," I explained drily.
"Oh."

A little while later, Happy became incredulous and yelled, "Mom! You cleaned the stools?!"
"Uh, yes, Happy, I did."

Okay, so I get the hint.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Dog Day Morning

Monday morning dawned bright and clear as usual here in the semi-desert. It was the day of picking up your dogs from the kennel after being away for the weekend.

I went to get our dysfunctional bowel animal from her home away from home and was greeted with whines and excitement. She is always happy to come back home. Putting her in the backseat, I had to constantly tell her to get out of my face while I was driving.

"Yes, yes. You get to go home now. Good doggie. No! Get out of my face, dog! Okay, it'll be alright. Good girl."

After I filled the tank with gas, I turned toward home and I ended up behind a pickup truck with two beautiful yellow labs standing in the truckbed.

I commented to Leigh about the two nice doggies and how pretty they were, but she didn't seem too impressed with them.

A little ways down the road, I was chatting with the dog (don't ask me why) when my eyes were riveted on the truck flying down the road in front of me.

I never thought I'd see the day, but one of those yellow labs did a somersault out of the truckbed, and rolled over and over on the side of the road creating a cloud of dirt.

By the time the dog had finished rolling around and stood up, the owner had hit the brakes. Thankfully, the dog looked fine to me if a little dazed.

I'm sure I made a comical impression with my mouth wide open yelling, "Oh, my gosh!" over and over again.

I may have yelled at our dog and okay, so maybe I have spanked her, too, (I have since learned that doesn't work....at all) but I can say she has never fallen out of my car.

Of course, that's not to say that won't ever happen either.

Little Rabbit Foo-Foo

We were cuddling in my favorite chair by the window enjoying the view of the mountains when Happy announced to me, "I don't like bunnies."

This was surprising to me since he is always outside looking for them in the bunny-made burrows in the bluffs behind our house.

His brother, Grumpy, is always sticking up for the plant-eating creatures and whenever I tease him about getting out the BB gun, he is always ready with a quick and panicky response about how he thinks of that notion.

Bashful even wants a bunny for a pet which I've adamantly informed the child, "Never, ever, ever." (I also said this about the dog, the cat, and the birds, but look how that worked out.)

So, I gave Happy a squeeze and asked him why he doesn't like bunnies. He replied, "I like eagles better. I think the eagles need to come and eat the bunnies."

Well, okay then.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Leave Taking

Our little Happy is quite the little worry-wort.


Last Saturday, I left to take Grumpy to his basketball game. Happy watched Grumpy and me very carefully as we put on our shoes and walked out the door. I kissed him and told him I would be back later.


A little while after I left, Doc put his shoes on to go outside and get the mail. Happy seems to be under the impression that whenever Daddy puts his shoes on, he is going to church.


So, when Doc put his shoes on, Happy thought he was leaving. He said, "Mommy left with Caleb. If you go to church, I be scared."

Thursday, March 5, 2009

A Windy Night

Previously published June 8, 2008.

It was 9:00 in the evening and I had just put the boys to bed. I went to look into Bashful's room and sighed forlornly as I looked at his empty bed. He had gone for an overnight stay with his dad up in the mountains and I was lonely for him. Wryly, I wondered what kind of mournful mom I am going to turn out to be when the kid leaves for college someday.

The wind had picked up considerably in the last few minutes and was howling like a banshee. There isn't a lot of precipitation where we live. When we actually get a thunderstorm, we prop our chins in our hands and stare out the window in awe. When we get a snowstorm, we immediately bundle into our winter paraphernalia and go romping in the snow. We take what we can get when it actually happens.

One thing we do get a lot of is the wind. The wind can get to a person sometimes. Drives me batty with the way it howls right along with the coyotes. When I leave the windows in the bedrooms open, the wind is so strong the doors slam shut and give me a fright enough to make my heart slam in my chest.

This particular night, I looked out the front window to see my boys' shoes on the front step. I decided to bring them in before they were blown away. I struggled to open the front door. The wind just wanted to slam it shut again, but I was determined. I squeezed myself through the opening and thought if I used my ample hind-end to prop it open, I would be able to reach down for the shoes and make it back into the house just fine.

My butt was no match for the wind.

As I bent down to pick up the shoes, the door slammed shut. Even as I turned to try the doorknob, I knew it was locked. Knowing Grumpy had just gone to bed and hoping that he didn't fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, I pounded on the door calling Grumpy's name.

No one came.

I debated with myself. Sneezy had just fallen asleep five minutes ago after a horrendous time of getting him to sleep. I also realized that I couldn't stand outside forever, so I rang the doorbell.

Pandemonium within. The dog started barking her head off and the baby was immediately and rudely awakened. I could hear him protesting this offense vehemently through the door.

Still no one came.

Pounding on the door, yelling Grumpy's name, and ringing the doorbell two more times finally brought my knight in shining armor to the rescue.

I'm thinking maybe I won't disassemble the doorbell after all.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Name Calling

This past Saturday, I had the opportunity to take my son Grumpy to his basketball game.

I was looking forward to enjoying myself while watching cute kids dribble and shoot. I picked a seat in the bleachers and with a big "go get 'em" smile on my face, stuck my thumbs up to let my son know that I was there to cheer him on.

An hour later, I sighed with relief when I felt the cool breeze on my face as Grumpy and I left the school building.

That was one of the longest hours of my life!

I did enjoy watching cute kids dribble and shoot. I did enjoy watching my son dribble and pass and block. It was great! The problem was the parents sitting behind me.....yelling in my ear.

Don't get me wrong. I encourage all parents to cheer for their kids. But this is what I heard.....for an hour......

"Get the ball, Taylor!", "Shoot the ball, Taylor!" "Steal it from him, Taylor!", "Get the rebound, Taylor!", "Good job, Taylor!", "Steal it from him, Taylor!", "Go all the way to the basket, Taylor!", "Get the rebound, Taylor!", and so on.

I wanted to reclaim my childhood by putting my hands over my ears and yelling, "Just shut up!"

It was painful.

I told Grumpy as we pulled out of the parking lot that if I ever hear the name "Taylor" again, it will be too soon.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Genie In A Bottle

I often wonder if I could have a super power, what would it be?

Sometimes I think I would like to be able to multiply myself. One of me that is the cleaning lady, one that is the chef, one that is the wife, another would be the homeschool teacher, and so on.

I don't know about you, but I believe that every homemaker has multiple personalities. We always have to switch to different modes in order to do everything we need to do.

We even occasionally have to switch to the "handyman" mode and that's just plain weird, if you ask me.

When I was younger, I was fascinated with the show I Love Jeannie. I would practice crossing my arms and bobbing my head while blinking just to see if what I wanted would appear before my eyes. Of course, I knew it wouldn't happen, but it was still fun.

Whatever Jeannie wanted done, all she had to do was blink and voila! magic would happen. It would be nice to blink and have a fabulous dinner appear on the dining room table. The laundry would be folded in a flash, and I would enjoy watching an enchanted magic eraser scrubbing my bathtubs for me.

The vaccuum would be running all over the house sucking up those pesky dustmites and the sheets would shake themselves out and gently fall back to the bed while the blankets smoothed themselves of any wrinkles.

I have to say that I am truly happy with God's will for my life. I am not unhappy when I have to clean the toilets or wash the dishes.

I was just thinking that maybe it would be nice to have the washcloth do the chore by itself so that I can keep a better eye on my toddler and prevent him from putting things into the toilet and flushing it.

Or playing with the plunger. Or playing with my dishes and watching one of them fall to the floor with a crash. Or spilling cereal onto the carpet. Or...

Yeah. Things like that.

Hole In The Wall

Our house was brand new when we moved in about three years ago.

Bright and shiny like a new penny and no one had lived here before us.

Every weekend, we would all pile into the van and take the trip to see the progress on the house being built just for us.

We have pictures of the piece of land we bought with no house on it. We have pictures of the house when it was just a skeleton of what it is now.

We excitedly awaited the time we would be able to move in and make it our home.

In the three years we've lived here, we've certainly done that.

Considering the boys' destructive abilities, I'm surprised the house hasn't crumpled down upon us. Not that they haven't tried to do just that either.

Little Sneezy has approached toddlerhood and life has been a little more hectic. Trying to keep those chubby, baby fingers from reaching for everything is a full-time job.

One evening after dinner, Sneezy took a cup full of water that was sitting on the table and poured it onto the kitchen floor.

I asked Bashful to get a towel and wipe it up because our floor gets quite slippery when wet and I don't want to have to take anyone to the ER.

Of course, the job didn't get done and the floor remained wet.

Bashful and Grumpy had just made plans to do something together that made Grumpy quite delirious with excitement. He made a flying leap toward the stairs and landed into the wall thanks to the still wet floor.

There is now a hole in the wall.

About the size of Grumpy's head.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Death To All Vaccuums

During the days when we had a family of mice in the house and Cleo was constantly in the midst of battles, something strange happened to our vaccuum.

It was a fairly new vaccuum because we had just broken the tenth vaccuum we've owned since the first year of our marriage. Considering we've only been married 13 years, that says a lot about us.

Vaccuums do not last long in this house.

We've tried all kinds and our present vaccuum is the canister kind.....and florescent green.

After the hero of the day (Mr. Mouse Killer) came and wiped out the mouse population living in our house, I noticed two humongous holes in the hose of our vaccuum.

I couldn't decide if I or the boys had tried to suck up something that was really sharp and thus blew out the side of the hose in a couple places, or the mice were really, really, really hungry.

This fairly new vaccuum was officially not fairly new anymore. I had to wrap up the holes with duct tape and keep my fingers crossed that it would still work.

In the convening months, it has been touch and go with the vaccuum. Most days, I have to take everything apart and shake out things that wouldn't go all the way through and then put everything back together again to finish vaccuuming up the chips or cereal that were crushed into the carpet thanks to Happy.

There are days when I wish for death to all vaccuums.

I'm still waiting for the invention of the perfect vaccuum. The kind that never breaks, never clogs, cleans the air while your at it, sucks so well that you know there is nothing in or under that carpet, and is cheap.

Wishful thinking, I know.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Broccoli Sandwich

It was Happy's turn to go out to lunch with Doc today.

He is the fourth in line and it probably seems to him that he always has to wait so long for his turn with Daddy.

Doc takes the boys out once a week for some one-on-one time alone with him and they always get to pick wherever they want to go.

Happy picked Wendy's.

Doc asked, "Do you want to get a broccoli sandwich?"

Waiting with suspense, we expected to get a "No way!"

What we got instead was, "Yep. It's my favorite."

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Puppy Switch

Last Sunday morning, a friend of ours let Sneezy borrow her little stuffed Dalmation puppy.

It was quickly confiscated by four-year-old Happy since Sneezy was mostly interested in driving his mother crazy during the church service.

It wasn't long when Grumpy (the one with the stuffed animal fetish) realized that there was a cute, little stuffed puppy within his vicinity.

It wasn't long after that when Happy and Grumpy were alternately snatching and resnatching the puppy from each other.

I had to put a stop to it and gave Happy the puppy.

We were in church after all and Grumpy is nine years old after all.

It seemed fair at the time especially when my nerves were already stretched taut for everyone to see since we were all sitting in the front row.

After church, Grumpy took off with the stuffed animal not to be seen from again until our friend from church asked about her puppy.

As I yelled for Grumpy to return the animal, our friend changed her mind and said that he could have it.

Muttering under my breath, I made sure he said thank you and we were off for home.

The next morning, Grumpy was busy with homeschool, so he didn't have time to play with his new confiscated addiction.

I was sitting at the computer teaching someone when the screeching noise coming from Sneezy finally pierced through my skull and I yelled, "What is going on?! What's wrong with him?"

I usually expected someone to answer me and Grumpy replied, "Happy won't let Sneezy hold the new puppy."

I marched up the stairs and there is Happy and little 15-month-old Sneezy grappling for the stuffed animal.

Happy wasn't letting Sneezy have it and Sneezy was adamant that it was his. He was holding onto the thing for dear life.

I was actually thinking at the time that it would have been nice for Sneezy to wait to fight with his older brother until he was at least two years old.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

It is official.

I can now listen to Doc's sermons online!

Woo-hoo!

If you would like to listen as well, then here is the link:

www.apostles-evergreen.org

Just scroll down and the sermons are on the left side bar.

You may think I am biased, but I say that he is one of the best preachers I've ever heard.

(The link is also on my own side bar under Church of the Apostles.)

Friday, February 13, 2009

Tormentor

Everyone in this house knows about Grumpy's stuffed animal fetish.

Even four-year-old Happy has figured this out.

The older boys and I were in the midst of our schooling when we hear a little sing-song voice coming from upstairs.

"Grumpy! Guess what I've got?"

Grumpy looks up the stairs and as soon as he realizes that Happy has his favorite cuddle bunny, dangling it like a carrot in front of a rabbit, the boy became a blur.

He flew up the stairs.

Happy squealed and turned toward his bedroom. He yelled to his co-conspirator, six-year-old Sleepy, "Hurry! Hurry!"

He streaks through the door and it slams shut.

Of course, they aren't strong enough to keep it closed and what commenced was a bitter struggle on Grumpy's part and a gleeful tugging on Happy's.

Happy has figured out what makes Grumpy tick.

This is going to be interesting.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Superbowl Screaming

Two Sundays ago, it was Superbowl Sunday.

To get it out in the open right away, I rooted for the Steelers.

I told the boys about the momentous occasion. They seemed interested about it, but when it came time to sit down in front of the TV to bask in football delight, they opted to play PS2 games.

They were not, on the other hand, able to quite ignore their mother's intermittent yells. She was quite excited throughout the game and near the end of the 2nd quarter, their mother started to scream....and scream....and scream. (If you were watching as well, you would know why.)

"Go. Go! Oh, my gosh! GO! No way! Run! RUN! Woo-hoo!"

Sleepy and Happy were quite confused about what could possibly make their mother scream in such a way and were a little worried about her.

They sat down with their mom and Doc to watch the football game.

When there was another amazing touchdown taking place, their mother began to scream again. Doc's ears began to bleed.

During his mother's excitable fit, four-year-old Happy reached out and rubbed her back in order to soothe her.

Along with the screaming, came laughter.

Next time, in order to not frighten my little boys, I will probably have to gag myself.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Doggone Morning

I have written this particular post to encourage everyone.....because we ALL have one of those days......

This morning, I was awakened by the buzzing of the alarm clock and immediately hit snooze. I hit snooze three times and after each time I immediately fell asleep again.

There's something about having five boys that enables me to do that.

After the third time, I went about getting ready for church and waking my sons.

Half an hour before we were to leave, I asked Bashful to let Leigh outside in order for her to do her business outside instead of inside.

Outside is always preferable.

I kept an eye on the clock and ten minutes later, I asked Bashful to let her back in.

I should have known he would be in his own world and so he didn't hear me.

Five minutes later, I asked if he had let her in. He said, "Oops," and opened the back door to wake the entire neighborhood.

"Leigh!"

No answer. No running paws.

We had ten minutes until we needed to leave, so I told Bashful and Grumpy to go outside and look for her.

Five minutes later, no Leigh.

I called for that dog over and over. Called her names, too. Gnashed and gritted my teeth alternately while complaining about the dog to the boys.

"Ungrateful....how could she?!.....where'd she go?.....that stupid animal!"

Finally, I had no choice and drove away. I called Doc and informed him of the latest dog escapade. When I asked him if I should turn around, he said no, and we hung up.

Twenty-five minutes later, Doc called me and told me to go back. Our poochie-pooh is an aggressive dog and if she decided to pick a fight with a neighborhood dog, we would be dog doo-doo....so to speak.

As I began to turn the car around, Sleepy and Happy came out of their own worlds to ask what we were doing.

I explained the situation and was dumbfounded when Sleepy informed me that he had put Leigh in the basement.

I pursed my lips and thought to myself, "This is Sleepy we are talking about here. The kid has no concept of time."

"Uh, you mean this morning? Are you sure?"

"Um, I think so," he replied. He didn't sound very sure.

I drove all the way back home.

I went into the house and opened the basement door.

There was that dang dog sitting pretty at the bottom of the stairs wagging her tail.

Yeah.

It was one of those mornings.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Jeans Jaunt

When I put on my trusty "after childbirth" jeans a little while ago, I looked in the mirror and realized the time had finally come to make the jaunt to the store for new jeans.

There was a rip about twelve inches long on the inside of my thigh.

Okay, then.

The other two pairs of jeans hanging in my closet were not much better off. One had a rip in the knee and the other was covered in old paint.

I had no choice.

I plopped the baby in jail for a couple hours and girded myself for the torture of finding just the right pair of jeans.

I purposely didn't think about it as I told my husband and children goodbye.

I hate dwelling on sad things.

I went to my favorite jeans store. The kind that is cheap.

After my second tustle in the fitting room, I hit the jackpot. I knew this because I could pull them up without too much wiggling and my stomach didn't hang over the button.

It was good enough for me and I headed for the cashier.

They aren't even officially called mom jeans. Not a bit of elastic in them. Well, not that I know of.

Now that that's over, I think I need to find some new shoes.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

A Wish Upon A Star

We've already had two birthdays this year and it's only February.

For each birthday, I've made a cupcake cake which is very popular in this house.

I have told the boys that we will celebrate Valentine's Day with cupcakes as well that have hearts and red and white sprinkles on them.

They are counting down the days.

A couple days ago, we were all getting into the car. It was dark outside and Grumpy had looked up at the sky to look at all the stars.

He exclaimed that there was a shooting star and immediately clasped his hands together and placed them underneath his chin.

His face was a study in earnest with his eyes closed.

He whispered a few words and all I could make out was the word "cupcakes".

As he was getting into the car, he told his father that he had wished for a thousand cupcakes.

He and his brother, Bashful, thought this was hilarious and pealed with laughter.

Valentine's Day just can't come soon enough.

Getting Around

Sneezy is 14-months-old now and is enjoying the freedom of exploration.

His chubby little legs have taken him all over this house and I usually hear him screeching with pleasure over one thing or another.

He particularly likes playing with the cat's water bowl.

I usually find cat food floating around in the bowl thanks to Sneezy, and this morning, I heard the usual swishing around and turned to confront Sneezy with his latest escapade.

He had Happy's toothbrush in his hand and was using it to stir the slushy cat food around.

Nice.

A few days ago, I went into Sleepy and Happy's bedroom to make sure it was picked up. Sneezy had followed me in there and turned to the closet doors.

He banged on them and looked at me. I interpreted his body language and realized he wanted me to open them so that he could feast his eyes on the colorful array of toys.

I left him happily playing and went about my usual business.

Later, I peeked in the bedroom to see Sleepy and Happy tumbling and wrestling about on the top bunk.

I looked around for Sneezy and only saw two chubby, little legs poking out from underneath the bed.

How cute is that.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Hair

Today, I have endeavoured to cut Sleepy's hair.

Doc and I got tired of astronomical fees we rack up for six men's hair cuts every two months, so he decided to get a haircut kit.

He ended up buzzing his hair.

It looks really nice, but his sons all had the same expression on their faces when they saw their father's new haircut.

It was something like, "Why in the world would you do that to yourself?"

This morning, Sleepy's hair was driving me crazy, so I marched him upstairs to my bathroom. I grabbed the scissors and the razor and set to work.

I asked, "Sleepy? Would you like your hair buzzed like Daddy's?"

He replied, "No. People will look at me and freak out."

"I'm just not sure I can do this, honey. Mommy's not a professional, you know."

"I'm going to Bella's house soon. She will look at me and not know who I am. She will wonder where Sleepy is."

His hair turned out alright. He is still recognizable. I'm sure I'll be better at it the more I practice. Shoot. I've got three other boys to go and then I'll have to do it all over again very soon.

Doc was lamenting his receding hairline as usual while I was fussing over Sleepy's hair.

He remembered a prayer he had when he was a boy.

"Dear God,
Please don't let me go bald until I'm AT LEAST 30!"

I think God is starting to answer that prayer.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

The Top 20 Clean Romance Movies Of All Time

I'm really picky when it comes to romantic movies.

I prefer them clean and it's really hard to find those kind of romance movies these days.

Nowadays, romantic movies are chock full of butts, boobs, and beds.

Just sayin'.

I was bored one day and decided to google the top romance movies of all time.

You have got to be kidding me.

One list had Brokeback Mountain on it.

Pulease.

I was, in fact, so disgusted by all of the lists that I came across that I decided to make my own. I decided to call it The Top 16 Clean Romance Movies of All Time, well, because I couldn't think of anymore to make it an even top 20.

Now, my list might be different from most people.

I said I was picky.

First, I don't like b***** women. That scratches out a whole pile of popular movies. One of them being Gone With The Wind. Does anyone besides me want to smack that woman?

Second, I don't like it when the couple end up in bed together. Uh, I don't really need to know, thankyouverymuch.

Third, in many movies these days, the main characters have gay friends. Uh, I don't think so.

So, this list is going to be of the movies that are MY favorite and happen to be clean enough for me which also means there may be some kissing in these.

You have been warned.

So, here goes in no particular order:

Roman Holiday- Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck

The Lake House- Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves

Sleepless in Seattle- Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan

Casablanca- Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman- a classic!

While You Were Sleeping- Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman

You've Got Mail- Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan

Becoming Jane- Anne Hathaway and James McAvoy

Sense & Sensibility- Hugh Grant and Emma Thompson- superb acting

Pride and Prejudice- Colin Firth- the one with Keira Knightley is nice because the acting by the guy was really good, but Keira rubs me the wrong way- she comes across as too mean.

My Fair Lady- Rex Harrison and Audrey Hepburn- the screenplay is a riot. It would be considered politically incorrect these days. That's probably one of the reasons why I like it so much. So funny.

Always- Holly Hunter

Ever After- Drew Barrymore- English accents in France. Yeah, I don't get it, either, but it is a clean romance at least.

Wuthering Heights- Ralph Fiennes and Juliet Binoche- the musical score is beautiful.

Jane Eyre- William Hurt- the best version I've seen.

Gigi- Leslie Caron- I always end up speaking in a French accent after watching this movie. It's so fun.

Bringing Up Baby- Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant- the relationship of the characters smacks of mine and Doc's. I always laugh my head off. A true romantic comedy. In fact, the best.


So, there you have it, people. Now, it's time to order/buy that special DVD, pop some popcorn, grab your favorite blanket along with your guy, and settle in for some mindless entertainment.....unless he's like my guy.

You know.

The kind of guy who makes comments throughout the movie like, "Well, isn't that nice?" or "Kissy, kissy, kissy," or "Pulease," or...well, you get the drift.

Then comes the time when you must kick out said guy and be content with watching the movie by yourself.

Because then you'll get some peace and quiet.

So, what's your favorite?

UPDATE: ***People! How could I forget The Wedding Singer, 50 First Dates, and The Princess Bride?! That takes it to 19, so in order to make it an even 20, I'll put in Striving's suggestion Bed of Roses. Thanks! So, the title is now The Top 20!

Prayer for Presidents

We have a new president now.

Bah.

My husband is aware of my incandescent joy and consistently reminds me to be respectful of our president and that we must pray for him just as we did for the former.

I reply, "Do I have to?" as I grudgingly concede that he is right.

Last night, we were barely able to eat our dinner as we depressingly discussed Obama's first days in office.

When Doc announced that our taxes are now going toward abortion, I wanted to vomit.

This morning, my husband jokingly announced that he is going to pray for Obama the way they did in the movie Fiddler On The Roof.

"May the Lord bless and keep the tsar...far away from us!"

Amen.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

In His Own World

I took my five boys to the store today to pick up a few things.

I grabbed a cart, pushed it a little out of the way so that our entourage didn't hold up anyone who came in behind us, and put Sneezy in the front seat of the cart.

I looked up to count and make sure my brood were with me when I noticed Sleepy a few feet in front of us looking around.

He noticed a woman pushing a cart in his vicinity and naturally believing he had the right woman and the right cart, grabbed a hold of it, and began walking away with her.

"Sleepy! Sleepy! SleEPY! SLEEPY!"

Even calling his name loud enough to wake the dead, he didn't hear me and continued walking away with the strange woman.

The woman noticed the ignorant child and stopped to look down at him with a gracious smile.

Sleepy's brothers ran after him and told him of his mistake with much glee.

When I reached my boy and saw the dawning realization cross his freckled face, the giggles got to me so badly that I was bent over. We were all huddled together laughing our heads off in the middle of the store.

Sleepy was proud that he had done something so funny.

When two parents who are often in their own world produce offspring, it's going to be quite an adventure.

Thump, Thump

This afternoon, I went into my bathroom to get ready to go to the store. I told my little shadow, Happy, that I would be out in a second and shut the door.

Within moments, I heard the tell-tale thump, thump, thump of the creaking bed.

"Are you jumping on my bed, boy?"

"No."

The thumping ends for a moment and begins again a second later.

"Quit jumping on my bed!"

He makes no mention that he heard me in order to continue the charade of not knowing what in the world mommy is talking about.

Although, the thumping did stop.

The child will be four years old very soon and has already learned the fine art of lying....without blinking an eye.

I'm in trouble.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Reciting the 5s

Sleepy was reciting his 5's and not enjoying it very much.

"5, 10, 15, 20, 30...."

"No, Sleepy, you forgot to say 25. Do it again," I said.

I left him to his recitation with his father sitting on the couch listening. While I was doing some things around the house, Sleepy told his father this...

"When I grow up, I'm going to be a policeman. When I catch a bad guy, I'm going to make him say his 5's. If he can't say them, I'm going to put him in jail."

Funny kid.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Best Christmas Ever, Part 2

Well, all, here's the rest of the Christmas story a little late.

My husband bought Sleepy and Happy guns for Christmas.

He bought Sleepy a Kentucky rifle and Happy a World War I action rifle with a powder horn.

These guns are fake, but they don't look fake.

These are the kind of guns that if they took them outside to play with, we would hear the screeching of tires and screaming from people passing by our house.

They would be yelling, "Oh, my gosh! That kid's got a GUN!"

They both thought the guns were pretty cool, but alas, six-year-old Sleepy has been bitten by the PS2 (Playstation 2) bug.

We got him a couple games to play and now Bashful and Grumpy must share their precious new present (PS2) from Christmas.

They are not exactly happy about that.

To his older brothers, though, it is a right of passage, so they've been quite patient and understanding in showing their little brother the ropes.