Monday, and Baby E posts.
Routines. Routines are good. They lend sanity and framework to 3 boys on the loose. In the summer. 3:1.
It's Monday, Baby E's post day: He's glad to be back and has lots to tattle ... ummm ... "say" about his time away. He missed you all!!
First: This is me.
My mom says we still have to do work, even if it is summer. That doesn't make any sense because if you don't have to do school, then you shouldn't have to do work, either. That's what I think. My mom says we can't grow up to be lazy or no one will marry us. She says that all the time.
This is me having to sweep the planters. I think that's a dumb job. But she says I have to do it because I said no to the other choices, too. She says you have to pick something and I said but I don't like what you're giving me to choose. And then she says what she always says about stuff, "Well, then, I'll choose for you." So, I said, "okay okay, I'll sweep the planters." But I don't think I should have to do all of them.
Next, I went on vacation.
Every day I said how much fun it was. Next week, I want to show you a picture of the deepest deepest hole I made on the beach. I dug until I got to water. It was up to my waist when I stood in it. And there was water in the bottom of the hole that stayed there and didn't sink away into the sand.
This is about what I found in the kitchen.
My mom makes me "Lucky Charm" toast. It's toast in the shape of a lucky charm because I like Lucky Charms cereal, too. Anyway, she always make me my toast in that shape and then one day when I look at the dishes I saw a lucky charm cookie cutter and grabbed it and said "so this is how you do it!" and her face went sad and she said, "no! I wanted you to not know my secret!" and her face really did look sad so I told her I could wipe it off the face of my brain with my hand and not remember it. And she said, "really?" and I told her I really could.
This is about my idea:
This one morning I was really tired and when my mom woke me up for my summer classes I said I needed my rusty body oil. And she said, "what?" and I said, "I'm going to first need my warming up oil, then my moving oil. Oil me up, mom, like a rusty robot so I can move."
This is the last story I can say:
My mom likes to put toothpaste on my flute!
I like to take my electric toothbrush and put it in my mouth sideways and pretend it's a flute by rubbing the hard part against my teeth. It works. And then I'll hear my mom come stomping up the stairs to check on me to make sure I'm ready and she catches me playing with my flutebrush and she'll say, "you're supposed to be getting ready" and then she puts toothpaste on my flute and I say, "you're putting toothpaste on my flute" and she says, "yeah, well, the pied piper called and wants his flute back, so brush your teeth" and when she does stuff like that I don't want to laugh, but then I laugh and then I can't be mad and sometimes I want to stay mad and not laugh. But I always laugh, even when I don't want to.
Next week I'll have my picture of the big hole I made..."oh, wait,mom! Can I do one more story?"
O.K. I got really hurt in my games class last week. A kid's skull went hard into my mouth and I had to go to the dentist. I'm better now.
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