March 30, 2011

The Scouting Report


So, with three boys one of the lame, tired jokes others quip and I sometimes regurgitate because I am lame and tired is, “We have ourselves the front line of a hockey team.”  This joke is so lame it must be punctuated with a news anchor foe laugh or, at least, a forced smirk.  Lame but true. Here’s the scouting report for my future mighty mites hockey team.

Kelly (4): The slight, skilled, crafty, veteran center man. Kelly works the angles and his relative speed and agility advantage to improve his position and gain the limelight.  He tallies penalty minutes for boarding, slyly throwing elbows when he thinks the refs aren't looking, line jumping, and spitefully grabbing toys before his little bros can reach them.

Rhys (2 1/2): Defensmen. The team enforcer with a decided mean streak.  He’s not afraid to hit, kick or head-butt the opposition – big bro Kelly or little Beckett, it makes no difference to number 33, he’ll take on all comers.  Due to poor vision, the big bruiser occasionally takes himself out, careening head long into cabinets, chairs or, the other day, the tailgate of a stationary SUV in the Safeway parking lot. 

Beckett (1 1/2): Old school, helmet less goalie.  Beckett can fearlessly take a puck or punch to his big-ol’, melon head and stand his ground.  80% of the time, the poor kid has a black eye or other major hematoma somewhere on his body from absorbing ruff housing abuse from his upper weigh class siblings or from his signature move of late: injuring himself while trying to keep up with K and R.  He always wants to do exactly what Kelly and Rhys are doing.  Examples: Running as fast as he can to keep up and falling face first on to a hard, coarse surface, screaming.  Trying to hoist himself up on to a big boy swing next to Kelly, gaining the desired altitude for a singular, triumphant moment, and then falling face first into the wood chips, screaming.  Refusing to use the booster seat with a handy safety belt, like his bros did at his age, and dropping from the dinner table at random intervals, you guessed it, on his big old head, screaming.
Beckett is a small, courageous, man-child, that Catherine and I fear may whittle us to gray, bent nubs, before our time is up.  

Kelly Update:

“Are you cussing with me? Don’t cuss me.” Kelly quoting the tile character from the Fantastic Mr. Fox movie (a movie that is played over and over around these parts), as Ana our brand new Colombian au pair helps him into his snow boots.  Ana had no idea what he was talking about (I’m not sure Kelly did either) and the reference surly escaped her, but I quickly quashed Kelly’s inappropriate quip. (Jan. 2011)

Kelly is identifying words: Chapter, On, Boston, zoo. While reading The Trumpet of the Swan, he stopped me while he found all insists of a particular word repeated on the two open pages.  He found Boston in five places and then I tricked him with Boatman.  He thought it was hilarious, when I told him the word was Boatman not Boston and then found all the Boatmans in about ten seconds.  

Art by Rhys from the fall. 
Random Rhys Tidbits:

The other morning Rhys was sitting on the counter stool at our kitchen island, amusing himself as I cooked breakfast.  He was singing under his breath,  “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.”  Then he muttered something about mixing and ovens and candles.  It seemed to me that he was baking an imaginary birthday cake for his little one man 2 1/2 year-old birthday party. 

Rhys is starting to memorize books like his big bro Kelly.

A funny little tale from boys night last night. 

Me: “Hey, everybody! Guess what? I decided we’re going to a pizza place for dinner tonight.” 

Kelly: “That’s awesome! Guess what, Rhysee? We’re going to a pizzeria for dinner!” (Kelly has picked up the phrases "That's awesome!" and "Oh my God!", lately.)

Me: “Hey, Kelly what’s a pizzeria?”

Kelly, not answering me directly but imparting his vast knowledge on the subject to his little bro, “Rhys, a pizzeria is a place that makes pizza.”

Me: "Yes, Kelly a pizzeria is a place that makes pizza. Kind of like a bakery is a place that bakes bread or, remember the word from the new Fredrick book Rhys?  The granary is a place where grain is stored.  
Moustache Madness 2011 - Final Photo

Rhys: “No, a pizzeria is a big, giant rhinoceros.  Rrrroarrr! Rrrrooarrr!” 

Alrighty, then.  We had a blast eating pizza at the big, giant rhinoceros place.

I need to come up with some great moustache photos for the boys in the morning.  Here's my final photo.  I'm going for the "Creepiest Moustache" category.  Check out our website in early April to see the boys' final photos and the overall contest winners.

March 23, 2011

Maple Syrup Mohawk

Per Kelly's request, I made a fat stack of fine cinnamon kissed french toast.  I cut the slices in squares for Beckett, parallelograms for Kelly, and triangles for Rhys. With two cups of strong brew nudging me into the swing of things, I plated the toast with a shallow pool of dark amber maple syrup and fat, fresh strawberries.  Kelly finished first and slipped away from the table to inspect a book. As I turned to the sink to fill the kettle for a second pot of coffee, Beckett grabbed Kelly's plate and inexplicably dumped remaining puddle of maple syrup on his head.  Rather than worry about the sticky mess, I gave Beckett a maple syrup Mohawk, took some pics, and handed him off to Catherine for a shampoo and buff.  Some days, we are nothing more than the parental equivalent to the zoo keepers assigned to monitor the mayhem and manage the mess on monkey island.