greggory, part mr. hyde

Lately, whenever agitated or provoked or actually for no reason at all, Greggory has been retorting with a "Well, you're an idiant!" Meaning to say idiot, of course.

I keep telling him that we do not call people idiants. Well, it's not nice, for one. I also keep debating with myself on whether to enlighten him on his mispronunciation. I mean, what if when he's 17 and in a fit of anger calls someone an idiant to their face? Not very intimidating. Not that I want Greggory to be a bully, but he really should correctly pronounce any threats.

It reminds me of a story that my dad told me about a student of his when he taught high school. If I recall it correctly, my dad asked him a question in class, and when the student didn't know the answer he retorted, "What am I? D-U-M?"

Perhaps.

I don't know if I will correct Greggory or not. But in the meantime, the word "idiant" will be put on our Words That We Do Not Say Because They Are Naughty List.

picnic in the hall

This morning after I sent Brooklyn and Roman off to school, I was embarking on the task of cleaning up breakfast when little Greggory asked me if I wanted to play with him.

"Sure," I said. That sounded more fun than doing dishes. "What are we going to play?"

"Restaurant," he said, and continued, "I'm the Ice Cream Man and you sit here and then I'll give you ice cream and a toy."

I sat licking my fake ice cream--which happened to be a stack of rubber tires on a stick--and asked him if he wanted any food.

"No," he said knowingly, "Ice Cream Men don't eat." I nodded, agreeing with him. Soon Holland wandered over. I told her to sit down, too. Greggory, the Ice Cream Man, handed her a plate with a plastic turkey on it. She watched how I nibbled on my ice cream and then pretended to nibble on her food, too. Except her food got a lot wetter than mine.

We sat for a few minutes in the hall. I was thinking, this is so fun. And Greggory and Holland and the kids get to do this every day. What have I been doing all these years?

"Mom?" Greggory asked.

"Yes?"

"Guess what. I love you." He stated it matter-of-factly.

"Guess what, Greggory?" I asked him.

"Ladybugs don't bite?" He answered.

"Yes. And I love you, too."

"Yep."

just in case you haven't had enough (of mice)

On Sunday, I was talking to my Dad about our mouse, er, problem (which, by the way, I feel that we are winning the rodent war at our house) and he told me a story about a man he once met in England while my Dad was serving a mission there. This man had been walking around his house at night one time and accidentally stepped on a pack-rat (I hate it when that happens!). For you vermin ignoramuses, pack rats are not small creatures. And he knew that if he took his foot off this rodent that it would bite and attack him.

Now, what would you do? Find a book? Get comfortable? Pray for wings? Make a mental note to call a realtor in the morning? Maybe.

Well, this unfortunate man did none of those things. He stomped the heck out of it with his other foot. (I pray this never happens to a one-footed person) And went back to bed. (Maybe he washed his feet first?) Aye, he's a brave Englisher.

So there you go. I probably wouldn't share this story at bedtime with the youngins', but you all did learn something today. You know, just in case this ever happens to you.

You're welcome.

we resolve

Our family's goals for this year:

Weston: To be home by 6:00 for dinner. (I may have helped with that one.)

Brigette: To have the house at Weston-level by the time Weston gets home at 6:00. (Weston may have helped with that one.)

Brooklyn: To be the best she can be.

Roman: To learn new tricks.

Greggory: To help Dad build things and to get a whooping crane.

Holland: To learn to say, "I love Daddy." (Want to guess who might have helped with that one?)

mice vice

So it turns out that whacking a baby mouse with a broom does not make it explode in blood and guts. Believe me, I was afraid of that.

Now, don't think that I turned to broom whacking right away, but when I saw that baby mouse zip around like he owned the place it really. freaked. me. out.

Something had to be done.

Probably when you hear or read "baby mouse" you think of a cute cuddly creature capable of no wrong. Not me. I think of breeding and infestation and extermination. You see, we've been having a sort of a mouse problem here in our house lately. Let's just say every night after we put the kids to bed it's not uncommon to see a couple of mice zip by in the kitchen. It's okay, you don't have to come visit.

Back to the baby mouse. Like I said, I didn't want to whack it right away, mostly because I was afraid of the blood and guts thing, and because the only whacker I had in the vicinity was a short 2x4 and frankly, the small surface area was too risky to try. So I tried the most humane thing I could think of and loaded a mouse trap with parmesan and placed it in the corner. And waited.

Sure enough! it smelled the cheese and came scurrying straight to the trap. ---

You know how in scary movies you see the unaware girl walk closer and closer to the bad guy and you know what's going to happen, but you can't help but watch anyway? Well, that's how it was watching this little mouse head right to it's death.

Except, (to my horror) I watched that little varmint crawl right on top of the trap, eat all of the cheese, (I could've sworn it nodded a thank you) and then crawl right off. It was so light that it didn't even trigger the dang trap.

Darn. It was up to me, now. Remember, it was not just one mouse I was killing, it was all the future babies, as well. I know, that sounds so much better.

So I gathered my courage, ran upstairs, grabbed the kitchen broom, took a deep breath, (my heart was pounding like crazy) and whacked it until it was only twitching. Okay, you probably didn't need that last part, but you only have to read it. I had to witness it.

In conclusion, am I a hero? Probably. Can I sleep at night knowing what I've done? Not really, only because I'm afraid that a mouse will run into my bedroom. But the most important thing is knowing that after having the courage to kill a baby mouse, I can do anything.

Well, almost.

discovery

Do you know what an Oryctodromeus is?

No, it is not a medical procedure.

If you answered dinosaur, then you are correct. Can you name any special attributes that are characterized by this dinosaur?

Yeah, me neither. Maybe you have to be a young boy of five.

In last Wednesday's paper, I read an article on a local discovery of this creature. Knowing Roman has a love for all things prehistoric, I showed him the article and asked him if he had ever heard of an Oryctodromeus. It sounded foreign even to me and we read a lot of dinosaur books.

He said yes, and then paused before saying in an excited voice, "Those are the dinosaurs that dig into the ground!"

I said "Really?" just kind of humoring the little guy, but holy buckets! the next sentence in the article was (and I quote): Oryctodromeus is noteworthy, Krumenacker and other researchers said, because it is the only dinosaur known to dig small underground burrows.

Pretty noteworthy, indeed.

i know

It's been way too long.

Don't worry. You haven't missed much.