Slug Hunting and Pooh Sticks

Daddy's company picnic this past summer offered all of the usual fare: barbecue at a park, huge sheet cakes from CostCo, drawings for a variety of items branded with the corporate logo, and an inflatable bouncy for the children. It also featured a few not so common attributes such as an employee with an uncanny resemblance to the mayor in the cinematic version of The Wizard of Oz who also served as a comedian slash magician. This gent will probably not be giving up his day job any time soon (but possibly could consider it if he could throw in a couple lions or two and if Siegfried and Roy would take him on.


But, most of these entertainments were for adults and didn't keep Helios and Hesperos entertained for long. So, the four of us went to create our own entertainment at the wetlands at which the event was held.



For starters, we absconded with the top halves of several hamburger buns. Ostensibly to feed the ducks, the fact is Mommy and the boys prefer the top halves and we figured we might need a smackerel on our long journey around the park. Privately, Mommy suspects that no one noticed the difference - for those distressed by there being bottom bun halves only, there was beer to comfort.




After feeding the ducks and the resulting Mother Theresa-like rush of benevolence mixed with self-satisfaction at having done a good deed, we walked through the woods where we were beset by slugs. Dozens of slugs, hundreds of slugs! We could not take a step without worrying what living slime might be beneath our shoes. So, the shorter ones in our impromptu troupe (i.e. the children) took it upon themselves to go slug hunting, staring at the ground intently and letting us all know where it was safe to step. To the best of our knowledge, there were no slug fatalities that day as a result of our walk. If you suspect otherwise, it's only fair to tell you that Mommy was wearing flip-flops which have no discernible sole pattern and the boys' shoes have since been donated to Goodwill. Good luck pinning it on us!

Our adventure concluded with a game of Pooh sticks played at the stream. The boys having never played before, it took a tiny bit of explaining. Then, Hesperos' natural competitiveness took over and he decided to win by flinging himself over the bridge's edge to push his stick (also the biggest stick) through. Helios did a little stomping and fitting about how Hesperos wasn't playing fair -- but we all know that Hesperos' casual interpretation of the rules is probably what will make him a corporate success story some day when he's prestigious enough to go only by his initials.

Soccer x 2

Let me take you back to fall 2007, where days dawned cloudy and full of rain, and the soccer games still started too early for Saturdays. Helios was just starting out in his first year of soccer as a jumpy 3-year-old who liked to run around the court in the same way a cat likes to chase spiders. Hesperos was his older brother's biggest fan, barely a year old, half walking, half stumbling after the soccer balls that he clutched to his chest with all his eager might.

Now in 2009, Hesperos is a stocky 3-year-old, still capering after his older brother but almost fully the same size and able to play soccer in his own right. He's still a little rough on the rules and enjoys carrying the ball -- his natural competitiveness results in him hiding it from his teammates as well as the opposing players. But, according to Daddy, who knows such things, Hesperos has a possible future ahead of his as a forward since he's quite good at running as fast as possible...and happens to kick the ball ahead of him as he goes, a 3-foot tall little blur on the indoor soccer field.

Early September brought a return of soccer season for both boys. Delightfully, each happened to be in a team whose t-shirt color is blue (light blue and dark blue) which minimizes the likelihood of quarreling over who gets to wear what shirt and whose team is best. (Yes, it's all about the color of the jersey.) Both boys are in teams coached by Daddy (resulting in very long Saturdays at the gym) but there's no sense of divided loyalties in this family. Due to the age difference between the boys, there's no risk they'll ever play against each other.

But this doesn't mean that the two brothers won't meet on the field every now and then. And afterward, there's always time for a more-or-less amicable play on the tire swing.

Glorious Stubbornness

Tonight after dinner, the entire fam schlepped ourselves over to an office supply store to purchase a replacement printer. Located right next door to the pet store, we promised the children that if they were well-behaved in the store (no running around, no touching things that weren't theirs), we would take them for a quick trip to view the snakes and fish.

For Helios, this worked pretty well. There was some mild spiritedness, particularly around the large paperclip bins which were apparently beyond tempting. But, other than approaching the cute female sales clerk and sharing with her every detail of his new Transformer toy in excruciating detail, he was fairly good. (In our opinion, the sales clerk did a remarkable job of feigning interest in boy toys, leading Mommy to believe that she will be, if she's not already, a superlative girlfriend.)

For Hesperos? It. Was. Utter. Disaster. He ran laps around the store, he pulled reams of stationery off the racks and tried to build houses, he refused to hold hands, and he plucked red/white/blue tinsel off the very unseasonable flag table display.

So, when Daddy and Helios merrily sauntered off to the pet store, Hesperos and Mommy went to the car where he screamed. And howled. And screamed. There are souls in the seventh circle of hell who probably felt like they got off easy, based on the tortured wails issuing from Hesperos' body. Demonstrating his mighty lung power, Hesperos stopped his ululations only to wipe his nose with his shirt and glare at Mommy peevishly to ensure she paid attention to him.

Once, Mommy reached into the back seat of the car to wipe Hesperos' nose with a tissue. "No!" he shouted. "My nose!" He covered his nose protectively with both hands. "This is MY NOSE, Mommy! You can't have it!"

Calmly, Mommy explained to Hesperos that she doesn't want his nose. She just wants to wipe it.

"No, Mommy! It is MY nose yucky." ("Nose yucky" being mucous, in case you didn't infer that.)

He glared. Mommy sighed with resignation and moved in for the stealthy wipe. He dodged, Mommy swerved. He blocked with his arm, Mommy swooped around it. He ducked, Mommy honed in. (He's locked into a car seat, so Mommy has a bit of an advantage.) SUCCESS! Nose wiped!

Now, the unholy sounds of three-year-old rage were unleashed from a previously unknown repository of vocal might. Unimpressed, Mommy stared at him in quiet amusement while he bellowed. Realizing he was not succeeding in getting Mommy's goat, he ups the ante and shoves one index finger into each nostril and delivers toddler rage served cold on platter. Glaring at Mommy, he shouts, "You're not getting my nose yucky EVER AGAIN MOMMY!"

We'll see.