Things you did this week that made me want to cry (how’s that for a executive summary of four-and-a-half?):
You interrupted your play at school when a toddler’s ball rolled away from her. You stopped the ball and handed it back to her before resuming your own wild shenanigans.
You stood atop one play structure at school and intoned obscenities, grinning ghoulishly, at a group of girls playing below.
When asked if your baby brother could play with the wooden utensils from your play kitchen, you looked me right in the eye and said, “Always.”
The glitter paint all over the dining room and living room weren’t really your fault, since the cat walked through your painting, then sat down on another to lick his glittery, sticky paws, then rubbed himself all over the furniture trying to get the paint off his fur. Thank goodness, I guess, you like pink glitter paint the best, because it blends a bit better into the rug than the blue he could have sat in.
When you woke from your nap with a fever, and went wandering into the kitchen to find me, you carefully barricaded the open side of the bed with pillows so your baby brother wouldn’t fall out.
You pointed your bubble blower at me, repeatedly, even after I asked you to shoot at something else. When I took that away, you pointed a well tuned recorder. When I took that away, you pointed a cardboard tube. When I took that away, you used your finger. Don’t fool yourself, boy, I can take that, too.
NaptimeWriting 
“Always.” = me blubbering like a fool. Ah, Pea.
I know, right?
Stinker.
I like pink glitter paint the best too.
Makes me cry too – just golden!
Well, golden but for the shooting and the swearing and the general mayhem…
Oh, how I love this post.
And the glitter.
They certainly know how to push and pull, don’t they? Although we’ve never met, I can see your face as clear as day with that last line. Perfect.
Now see, when you said this would be all stuff that made you cry, I braced myself for the worst. But much of this is puddle-wonderful, as cummings would say.
Oh how I’d like to take that finger…
How sweet he can be though – warmed my heart :)
For the record, it was a finger-gun. Not THE finger. He’ll clearly be losing that one the first time he flashes it.
And that’s how they are boys: causing havoc one moment, reducing their mother’s to tears (in a good way) the next….
Buckle in tight, Nap. It looks like you are in for quite a ride!
they’re downright bi-polar at times, aren’t they? Lovable scamp!
LOL I love that kid. And haven’t you ever heard, “Give a girl a stick, it’s a doll; give a boy a stick; it’s a sword/gun.” There are somethings ingrained in the Y chromosome. I fear weapons are one of them.
Oh. Peanut. Peanut. Peanut.