Life according to boys

It’s interesting to me the way kids make sense of their world. At three and four, life is still so literal. They simply call things as they see them. And understanding the craziness that is our colorful English language is oftentimes the source of confusion and misunderstanding to the minds of the little ones we love. However puzzling, our boys just seem to draw their own conclusions about the many facets of the world around them. Here are just a few interpretations of life, according to our boys.

On love:
The boys and I have this game we play. We usually save it for when one of them is sick, or whiney, or tired, or mad. Some time when I need to really soften them up. Make them smile. Force them to be happy.

It starts simply, with a whispered “I love you” in their ear. This almost always invokes a sour look in return. But a mother must be persistent, so I try again.

“I love you more than coffee.” This usually gets an upward curl of the lip, only to be pushed back down by their stubborn will to stay mad. Again, I persist.

“I love you more than cinnamon toast.” “I love you more than sleeping late on Saturdays.” “I love you more than…(dare I say it)…chocolate chip cookies!” And that usually does the trick. By then, the boys are a bundle of giggles, asking as quickly as they can come up with a thought:
“Do you love me more than ice cream?”
“Do you love me more than baseball?”
“Do you love me more than the Yankees?”

On being himself:
Brisco’s newest wish is to be someone else.
“I wish I was Coopa,” he’ll often say. As the younger brother, I know there are a million and one reasons he might wish he was Cooper, but I’m always surprised at what he comes up with.
“So I can go to school.”
“So I can do the hand jive.”
“So I can wear red cleats.”

Sometimes he wishes that he was Daddy, “so that I can drive.”
And other times he even wishes he was the mom.
“I wish I was you,” he says with a droopy face.
“Why do you wish that?” I ask.
“So I can cook!” he says, with a why-in-the-world-else kind of tone.

On school:
After almost nine weeks, my little school boy is still gung ho. He wakes up every morning and asks, “Is today a school day?” If I say no, he hangs his head and curls his nose and lets out a disappointed, “Aww.” But if I say yes, he does a quick fist pump and an excited “Yes!” under his breath. A sign that maybe he did get a little something from his mother’s genes.

On giving:
Sunday mornings after the boys get dressed, they grab their Bibles and take some money from their money jars to give to God. This week, Brisco yelled at his dad from the other room: “Dad? Does God take dimes?”

I tell them that if we give to God happily, He will give back to us. So being the kind of kid he is, Brisco asked impatiently, “Well, when am I gonna get my money?”

He’s not just concerned about his own money though. After watching the men put the collection plates underneath the Lord’s Table one Sunday morning, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “When is God gonna come get His money?”

On discipline:
After terrorizing his mother and a dozen or so other shoppers last week, I let Brisco choose his discipline: take a spanking or take a nap. He chose the former. Who knew naps were so unbearable?

Lately, the boys have been doing their fair share of fussing. Dad has been home more than usual, and he’s already tired of listening to it. So yesterday, after a bossy, name-calling older brother and a screaming, tattle tail little brother fussed one time too many, he gave them both swats. Brisco came running in the house bawling and holding his bottom.
“Daddy gave us a spanking with a stick with no leaves!” he cried.
Holding back my laughter, I explained, “That’s called a switch, son, and your daddy knows all about them, so you might want to think about straightening up!”

And that’s life according to our boys.