The Monkey Barrel

Archive for the ‘Luke’ Category

Our morning in pictures. Enjoy!

Merry Christmas and Happy New year!

We’ve had a lot of difficulty of late with the boys arguing and talking nasty to each other. Luke can be a pest and John is short of temper and there’s just been a lot of snapping even toward Fred and I. So I was talking to the boys about it and explaining to them the importance of being a servant to each other and putting each others needs and wants before their own but not having much luck getting my point across. I hate to lecture ad-nauseum and try to find good object lessons to drive the idea home. It usually involves an analogy that has to do with bodily functions. They’re boys, you have to speak their language, and gas and laughter are generally it. But this time, it just wasn’t cutting the cheese, so to speak.
But I think I’ve hit upon genius if I do say so myself. Last night I sat down with both of them and made lists. Each of the boys had to come up with 10 ideas of something really nice they could do for their brother. Lemme tell you that part alone nearly made me wanna give up the idea. I never thought they would find that so hard. So with a few promptings from daddy about what they would like someone to do for them, we turned it around into something they could do for each other. After about a half an hour we had 20 great ideas. I took each paper and cut out each idea and folded it up and put them all into a jar.
I sat them down again and told them that from now on, when they talk ugly to each other, or are unkind to one another, they will go to the jar and pick out a piece of paper and whatever it says they will do for their brother. The ideas range from putting away each others laundry, to letting someone go first in everything all day, and buying a gift with their own money at the dollar store. Each time they have to go the jar and execute one of the deeds, the deed will be followed by a sincere apology to the offended party.
My hope is that the jar won’t have to be used as punishment for long and that they will come up with other ideas on their own to add to it and that each idea will become a habit and way of life for them in how they treat not only themselves but others around them. They really do get along most of the time and Fred and I often marvel at how much they enjoy and love each other without much of a thought to it. But we want always to encourage them to put other peoples needs before their own and most especially their brothers. I’ll keep you posted on the results of this experiment.

Last night whilst making the evenings repast, a horrific sound bounded and thudded down the stairs. Dropping everything in my hands I careen into the front hall certain I will find a bloody massacre. Instead I find Luke at the middle of the stairs chasing his pumpkin from his field trip. Heaving a sigh of relief and biting off the shriek mid breath, I ask if he’s okay and he looks at me like I am the stooooopidest parent on the earth and says, “yeah”. Later that evening Gramma asks Luke why he threw the pumpkin and Luke shrugs and replies matter of factly (and with a bit of incredulity), “It was the fastest way to get it downstairs.” He shall be source of all hairs white upon my head.

We finally got the new platform bed up in john and luke’s room.   Check it!

My brother used to subscribe to a magazine when he was in the Boy Scouts called Boys Life. I really wish I’d read more than the funnies in it. Maybe it would have prepared me better for raising the hooligans I call sons. Perhaps there were articles on how to pack a perfect sand ball for hitting with a plastic bat in a way that didn’t fling particles into a younger siblings eyes. Or maybe there was a column that offered advice on how to organize all your toys into a crazed mess over every available floor space in your home that makes sense to naught but a little boys brain. I wonder if anyone wrote about how to keep a young mans fingers from straying into his nostrils absent mindedly or picking a wedgie publicly and REALLLLY diggin to get that bad boy out without a thought to the passerby near at hand. Was advice given on how to reassure your young sons that sharks live nowhere but aquariums and oceans and that taking a bath will not produce said creature from your drain hole? Were there instructional articles on how to amass every ounce of dirt in the surrounding county and pile it into hair, ear holes, fingernails, elbows, knees, toes, and butt cracks? A comic commentary on the never fail properties of a well timed fart gag anywhere, just about any time had to be in there somewhere I’m certain and boys are full of it and able to command it at will. I would have found great value in reading anything published having to do with distinguishing smells that emanate from beneath beds, inside closets, and hampers, and bathrooms that no matter how hard I clean, insist on smelling of old caked urine. I would also have been pleased to read in the culinary commentaries that every mother should purchase at least one metric ton of macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, and root beer per child to secure their sons survival. It would have saved many a slaved over meal. Were there write ups on volcanoes and the abject fascination with burning hot lava? Volcano week should seriously be considered on the Discovery and National Geographic Channels. My boys would be glued to the television. And speaking of glue, was anything written on the use of copious amounts of glue sticks and tape and staples to create original comics to peddle to your aunts and other bus riders and neighborhood school children? I should also own stock in those companies. There should’ve been something said about masked marauders hiding under beds and waiting stealthily for dripping wet parents wrapped in towels and ignorance, waiting so quietly to grab their ankles and send them shrieking to the ceiling sans towel and dignity to the soundtrack of giggling and hysterical laughter. But then, I suppose, had they included any of those things, I would never have wished for a son and gotten three that have made a daily, chaotic, insanely frustrating, crazy, manic, amazing, blessed, beautiful life

We took the kids to Busch Gardens last month for the first time this year.  John is now tall enough to ride all of the rides including the Alpengeist and Griffon (the two big ones).  He had a blast on all of them… glad to know he wasn’t permanently scarred by me taking him on the Rock and Roll coaster at Disney when he was 7.  That thing launches you in the dark thru several loops while Aerosmith screams RIGHT IN YOUR FREAKIN EAR AT 150db!!   He came of crying and I felt like crap.   But he is still riding!  haha.

Luke now wants to ride everything like his brother John.  And my problem of course..  do I let him ride anything he can and roll the dice on a phobia?  Or hope that he comes out of bad experiences like John did?

Nothing like gambling with your childrens mental well-being.

So..  I took him on the Big Bad Wolf, which IMHO is really inappropriately named.  Should be “The Boring Wolf” or “The Craptacular Wolf”.  I guess thats why they are tearing it down.. yea!   Back to the story.  I took Luke on there.  He swore he wanted to ride it.  Really.

We mount up and head down the first set of turns which don’t do much for your average coster rider.  He loved it.  Then we started going up the one ‘big’ hill in the second half.  I leaned over to tell him that if he got scared, to just to hold on to my hands.  But on that ride you are tucked in to a shoulder harness and little Lukie was buried in that thing.  I couldn’t even see his face.   He heard me though and I heard him reply “Ok Daddy!”..  followed by a squeal of excitment.

We reached the top of the hill and drop down the other side..  That ride is sooo loud compared to more current rides.  All I could hear is the rush of wind and the cars clacking along the track.  I strained to see Luke’s face or to hear if he was ok, but there was too much noise.   We reach the bottom and slow down just enough that the wind and other noise lessens a bit.  All I could hear from the seat next to me..

“OH YEA!   OH YEA!   OH YEA!  OH YEA!…”

While watching shark week shows last night I overhear John and Luke on the couch and the conversation went a little something like this

Luke : (quietly) mumble mumble Dear Jesus, mumble mumble mumble sharks mumble mumble mumble
John : Luke why are you praying about sharks?
Luke : Because John, I don’t want the big sharks to come and eat me so I’m praying to Jesus to close their mouths if I’m in the water.
John : Luke, don’t be silly, sharks don’t eat humans. They eat seals and sometimes they mistake us for seals because seals are a part of their natural diet.

My kids kill me!!!!!!!!!

Among the many games we have taught the children such as rock, paper, scissors and so forth Fred started the “Hey, you have something on your shirt” and then pops a finger on their nose and says, Made ya look, giggles resound, everyone’s happy. ‘Til the boys got wise to it and stopped taking the bate. Enter mommy who is the reigning queen at this game. How can you resist looking when your mother insists that there is stain on your shirt and is armed with paper towels, wipes, or a rag to wipe it up or tsks at what looks to be baby yark on daddy’s shoulder??? Well, I tell you, you can’t. So in the car the other day, Fred is desperately trying to get Luke to play along and Luke is having none of it and I turn to Fred and with a look of chagrin say, “Gees honey, how long has there been baby vomit on your shoulder?” to which he immediately looks and I get him in the nose and happily yell, “Made ya look!” and Luke in the backseat hollars, “In your face dad”. We howled in hysterics. Still have no idea where he learned that or the correct timing to use it but that kid is good. He’s gonna go places. Oh yeah, and seriously, whatever you had for lunch, it’s on your shirt. Right there on your shoulder. Honest. HAHAHAHAHA Made ya look!!!

A few weeks ago we started hearing an odd sound coming from the bathroom. It only happened occasionally but pretty soon it was with every flush. The kids started calling it Chewbacca. They began specifically going up to use that toilet and gales of laughter would ensue. Occasionaly I’d find an obscure light sabre and oddly hacked toilet paper on the floor. Luke started wearing his Darth Vader helmet to go potty and his Lego Star Wars underwear became hugely popular again. Whenever friends or family would come over they were ushered sneakily upstairs with whispered giggles about our new family entertainment. About a week ago I noticed that a few seconds after Chewbacca’s call came an answering groan. So now we have one wookie howling and it’s companion groaning in response like some weird mating ritual, in our toilet!! I had no idea our potty was the galaxy “far far away”. I almost don’t have the heart to have Fred fix it because it has produced so much joy, but fear of a growing colony of wookies and the ensuing hairballs give me caution.