Talking is Overrated... Blah, Blah, Blah

My 4-year old spends a lot of time in the car while we shuttle his older brothers to and from school, soccer practices and piano lessons.  Therefore, it is only fair, in my opinion, to give him the right of first refusal when it comes to the all-important decision: What DVD should we watch in the minivan?

Lately, however, the grumbling from the two older boys regarding the little guy's viewing choices has become more pronounced.  My 8-year old, in particular, frequently protests that his brother's choices are "baby shows".  Said protests are then followed by vociferous arguments to replace "Blue's Clues" or "Thomas the Tank Engine" with something vastly more sophisticated... like "Elf".

This afternoon, the protests began the minute the older boys entered the minivan after school.

"Another baby show?" one of them exclaimed indignantly.  "Why are we always watching baby shows in the car?"

"What exactly is your problem with baby shows?" I asked.

"They're so boring," he replied.  "Nobody fights, and nothing gets blown up.  Usually somebody walks around and tries to teach you the alphabet.  But mostly it's a lot of nothing."

"Boooring," my 6-year old sighed from the back seat.  "We already know the alphabet.  Blah blah blah."

The exchange reminded me of another conversation I had with the boys over the summer while we watched "Kung Fu Panda".  On that evening, I had suggested we fast-forward through the fighting scenes. 

"They're rather violent for a kids' movie," I muttered, reaching for the remote control.   "And besides, the last fifteen minutes has been nothing but a montage of kicking, punching and jumping in the air.  It's kind of repetitive.  Boring.  Let's just watch the scenes with dialogue to see how the story develops.  That's more interesting."

"What?!?" my 8-year old gasped.  "I'd rather fast-forward through the talking scenes and just watch the fighting scenes.  The talking scenes are the boring parts."

"Why would we choose 'Kung Fu Panda' if we don't get to watch kung fu?" my 6-year old added, aghast.  "That makes no sense, Mom."

Alas, I realized there are two things going on here.  First, my boys are growing up.  Few are the years when their favorite shows are cartoons that teach you the alphabet.  Before I know it, my youngest son will be a third grader scoffing at "baby shows" and all the other things he loved as a little boy.  Time marches forward, even when you're not ready.

Second, a fundamental difference between boys and girls can be boiled down to this point regarding entertainment value: For boys, dialogue is overrated.  If nothing is blown up and no one gets shot at, boys wonder what they've just sat through.  

There's an excerpt from Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz that always makes me laugh.  I like to imagine one of my boys writing something like this when he's grown up.  Donald mentions a piece of dating advice that he received from the opposite sex:

Here’s a tip I’ve never used: I understand you can learn a great deal about girldom by reading Pride and Prejudice, and I own a copy, but I have never read it.  I tried.  It was given to me by a girl with a little note inside that read: "What is in this book is the heart of a woman." I am sure the heart of a woman is pure and lovely, but the first chapter of said heart is hopelessly boring. Nobody dies at all. I keep the book on my shelf because girls come into my room, sit on my couch, and eye the books on the adjacent shelf. "You have a copy of Pride and Prejudice," they exclaim in a gentle sigh and smile. "Yes," I say. "Yes, I do."

To me, the funniest part of the paragraph above is the fact that Donald can't get through the first chapter of Pride and Prejudice because nobody dies in it.  This is funny because it illustrates the point that boys (of any age) really just want to see (or read about) stuff getting blown up.  

And this point rings no truer than with the largest boy in the house, my husband.  When we first started dating, I forced him to watch all of my favorite movies: "Anne of Green Gables", "Emma" and "Pride and Prejudice."  Oh, the things a man will do for a woman when they're dating.  The first time he watched "Emma," he may have fallen asleep. 

"That movie was pointless," he told me later.  "There's no storyline, no action.  It's just a bunch of women gossiping about other women.  Blah blah blah." 

"What?" I exclaimed. "Were we watching the same movie?  It's a love story between Emma and Knightley.  She is the earnest but flawed heroine who learns through her mistakes what is really important; and Knightley is the noble friend who loves her, despite all her shortcomings.  But he too is misguided in matters of the heart.  They both take a lot of wrong turns but eventually realize how much they need and love one other.  That is the heart of the story."

He paused and shook his head.  "All I heard," he replied, "was blah blah blah."

Siri-ously Outplayed

Last night, my 6-year old ran over carrying my iPhone and asked, "Hey, Mom, can I talk to that funny girl on your phone again?"   

My first reaction was to sit down and have another discussion about stranger danger, but then I remembered that the "funny girl" he was referring to is Siri.  Encouraged by his brothers (and goaded on by his father), the kid has been trying all week to find new ways of stumping, confusing and otherwise embarrassing poor all-knowing Siri, who only wants to tell you where to find the nearest Starbucks.

It started a few nights ago.  First, my husband thought it would be funny to ask Siri about her religious beliefs.  They asked her, "Is there a God?"  Siri's reply was very diplomatic and careful not to offend:  "I would ask that you address your spiritual questions to someone more qualified to comment.  Ideally, a human."

Unable to chisel away at Siri's conscientiously scripted responses, the boys became bored with this line of questioning, and the conversation quickly degenerated into potty talk. H

"Are you a boy or girl?" one of them asked.

Siri replied matter-of-factly: "Animals and nouns have genders.  I do not." 

Not satisfied with her answer, my 6-year old continued: "Where is your penis?"  His brothers exploded in laughter.      

Poor Siri answered: "My name is Siri, and I was designed by Apple in California.  That's all I'm prepared to say."

"Do you fart?" my 4-year old asked, grabbing the iPhone from his older brother.  Another round of self-congratulatory laughter.  By now, they realized they had stumbled onto a new form of entertainment.

Unfazed, Siri replied tactfully in her monotone voice: "I've never really thought about it."

"How do you poop?" they continued.  "Do you ever have diarrhea?" 

I started feeling sorry for Siri.  Here she was, Apple's highly touted "intelligent personal assistant" for the iPhone, a modern day genie trapped in a bottle... currently reduced to being bossed around by three little boys who wouldn't stop asking her about poop.  I imagined her as the digital version of a young career woman, eager to please and ready to fulfill the aims of a hard-earned education... only to be assigned the task of babysitting the boss's bratty kids for a day.   

And then it dawned on me.  Siri never loses her temper and raises her voice.  She doesn't get frustrated when she can't understand what a child is yelling at the top of his lungs.  And even if she's sleep-deprived and suffering from a bad case of PMS, Siri tirelessly endeavors to answer any question posed by a 4-year old boy, no matter how inane or repetitive.  I could learn a lot from Siri, I thought.  And more importantly, I think I've just found my replacement.  Siri... is my new best friend!

So, after dinner tonight, I handed my iPhone to the boys and told them Siri would be babysitting while I finished the dishes.

"Do you have a butt?" my 6-year old began, rather pleased with himself.

"You have the wrong sort of assistant," Siri replied calmly.

"Okay, then do I have a butt?" he continued, giggling.

"No comment." 

"I said, do I have a butt?" he repeated, a bit frustrated.

"This is about you, not me."

I was starting to like Siri more and more.  She no longer seemed as spineless as I first imagined.  This sister was actually kind of sassy.

Finally, the boys gave up trying to unhinge Siri.  Clearly, she wasn't about to buckle under a little bullying by a posse of presumptuous young boys. 

"I don't like you," my 6-year old sighed, concluding this exchange wasn't as much fun as it originally seemed. 

Unflappable as ever, Siri retorted: "I would rather you didn't."  

He silently handed the iPhone back to me and bounded off to play with his Legos.  Standing at the dishwasher, I chuckled to myself.  Unwilling to be an easy target for the boys or a thankless babysitter for me, Siri had just outplayed and outsmarted all of us in one fell swoop. 

Did I Really Just Say That?

My husband likes to point out how loud I've become in the last few years.  "You're definitely not the same girl I met in high school," he'll mutter and segue to how, somewhere between litigating and raising boys, the volume and pitch of my speech changed.  Next, he'll nostalgically slip in a few adjectives like nice and quiet to describe the "old" me, purportedly in contrast to the "new" me, who can belt out orders like a drill sergeant on the first day of boot camp. 

And it's not simply the change in decibels that is surprising.  If I catch my breath, sometimes even I don't believe the words that come out of my mouth.  Gone are the days of discussing which Jane Austen hero makes a better suitor--Darcy or Knightley; or what to serve for an afternoon tea--scones or sandwiches?  Nowadays, conversations (and I use that term very loosely) instead revolve around such highbrow topics like how badly one needs to go potty, and the all-important question--pee or poop?

So I started making notes of absurdities uttered during the day that seem perfectly normal now that I'm a military sergeant (oh, I mean, mom of boys).  After one week of careful linguistic observations, I offer a sampling of ten sentences I never imagined would become regular parts of speech:

1. Are you wearing underpants?

2. I don't care if he says he likes it; you're not allowed to barricade your brother inside a laundry basket.  

3. What part of "Library books aren't meant to be used as skateboards" do you not understand?

4. Yes, I suppose it does sound like a fart; but I hope you realize you have other talents worth developing too.

5. That is quite possibly the most awesome supersonic flying automatic weapon you've ever built.

6. Is a booby trap really necessary here?

7. Even if we had more duct tape, I wouldn't give it to you.

8. Does that smell like pee to you?

9. Please tell me you didn't just drop that in the toilet.

10. For the nth time, why aren't you wearing underpants?!?

Our Summer Project: Building a Boys' Fort (a.k.a. "The Mini Man Cave")

Every once in a while, boys (whether they are three or thirty years old) need to retreat into their own space.  Call it a man cave, mantuary, fortress of solitude... whatever the terminology, I get it.  In fact, I welcome time spent in the man cave, because it means I'm off duty and can finally take a nap.

But until now, the boys have not had a proper "mini man cave" in the house.  Last year, they came up with the ingenious idea of pitching a tent in the living room.  My husband, who is the de facto leader of the boys, was thrilled.  Before I knew it, he moved the furniture aside and erected a 16-foot camping tent that occupied nearly the entire length of the room.  To make the sleeping arrangements more comfortable, the boys "borrowed" two mattresses from the beds upstairs and positioned them side by side in the tent, and then tossed in a few sleeping bags and pillows. 

They were overjoyed.  Like squirrels storing nuts for the winter, they brought in flashlights, toys and books, ready to hunker down until Spring.  And for the next several weeks, they slept in the tent every night.  They congregated and held secret meetings there in the afternoons.  And whenever I couldn't hear them in the house, I knew exactly where to find them.

And then, a few weeks later, the tent was swiftly destroyed when my sons, along with three other boys, decided to see if they could climb to the top.  A support beam snapped, and the entire tent collapsed.  The boys begged me to keep the tent, but I finally had a reason to take back my living room.

That was Man Cave 1.0.  Its operating system literally crashed due to boy overload.

After they lost their tent, the boys periodically created makeshift shelters out of blankets and whatever furniture they could commandeer.  I often found them barricaded in their playroom, hiding in a lopsided fort made of two armchairs with a blanket draped over their heads.

Enter Man Cave 2.0.   

A few months ago, my husband rushed over on a mission.  He had that look on his face which I know means that nothing I say will dissuade him from his next big idea.  He'd found the Eli Fort Bed at Pottery Barn Kids (pictured at left). Well, I couldn't help but admit the bed was a great concept, and we both agreed the boys would spend every free moment in that fort conspiring as pirates, cowboys or space rangers.  In addition, our fourth son will need his own bed soon.  

However, at $1800 (shipping and tax included), the bed is rather pricey.  So he decided he'd build one himself, even if it takes him all summer to complete it.

Well, naturally, being the pesky wife that I am, I had a ton of questions: "When are you going to find the time to work on this?  How are you going to calculate the weight bearing capacity of the top bunk?  Can you imagine the older two boys jumping on the platform and the whole bed crashing down on the younger two boys?  Are we going to end up with hundreds of dollars worth of lumber taking up space in our garage for the next several years?"

Just a wee bit annoyed, he replied matter of factly: "I have a graduate degree in engineering and you think I can't build a fort?"  (This was the point in the conversation when I knew I'd have to apologize later for my lack of faith.)

During the first week, he spent his evenings sawing, staining, drilling, and hammering. He finished the platform structure, which looked like a giant table on four legs.  He proudly assembled it in our playroom, and the boys (dad included) enthusiastically tested out the load bearing capacity by jumping up and down on it for twenty minutes.

The project languished for the next several weeks while we traveled and took the boys to the neighborhood pool.  During this lull, there were a few trips to Home Depot to buy power tools and various other manly acquisitions which I was not entirely certain were absolutely necessary for the project at hand.   

And then one night, my husband sprang into action.  He shifted into full-blown mad scientist (or rather, mad carpenter) mode, and knocked out the rest of the fort in a few consecutive evenings.  Without any building plans to follow, he came up with his own design inspired by the Pottery Barn Kids fort bed.

I may be biased, but I think his version turned out even better.  The entire fort is reinforced with L-brackets and secured into the support beams of the house.  The structure isn't going anywhere.  It can withstand earthquake-like rumblings from four boys jumping up and down on the top bunk.

Instead of a ladder, we opted for a sturdy flight of stairs with a handrail, which is easier for our 1- and 3-year old to ascend.  He also positioned the stairs on the side, rather than the front center.  This allowed us to add a wall frame to the front of the bottom area, which gives the boys another semi-enclosed space in which to huddle and make plans to take over the world... or whatever boys do when girls aren't around.

After finishing the structure, my husband assigned me the task of decorating the fort.  The Pottery Barn Kids version featured ocean and surf-related accessories that can be purchased separately. But we wanted to make our fort true to the style of an old-fashioned boys' treehouse.  So I created my own wooden signs using cedar planks, stencils and acrylic craft paint.  Now, every club requires some level of exclusivity, so a "Keep Out" sign is mandatory. 

I came up with the idea for this next sign, after I found a brass plated plaque with the phrase "No Girls (Except Mom) Allowed" and a skull and crossbones motif, in a store.  I wasn't enticed to spend $70 for the plaque, and I also wanted the sign to be wooden and rustic in style.  So I borrowed the phrase and made my own sign.  And I added "Boys Only"... as if we need any additional explanation.

Well, our clubhouse would not have been complete without a pirate-themed sign.  Again, using stencils and acrylic paint, I created the "Beware of Pirates" sign on a cedar plank, and then decoupaged little pirate graphics (which are actually party invitations sold at Target) using Mod Podge glue.

We tossed around a few other ideas for the front of the clubhouse.  A sliding window?  A porthole with a mounted telescope?  A bucket attached to a pully system to carry loot from the ground level to the top level?  Well, in the end, we decided to keep it simple.  We made a wooden mailbox... perfect for delivering notes written in code, treasure maps, and instructions for secret missions. 

Although we decided against enclosing the clubhouse with a door, we added a working doorbell... because you know, boys love pushing buttons, figuratively and literally.  You can buy a remote doorbell at any home improvement store.  The one we purchased was plastic and didn't fit the rustic style, so I painted it to match the rest of the fort.  The button was mounted with double-sided tape, and the "bell" part is plugged into an outlet inside the clubhouse.  I'm not sure if we'll regret the doorbell someday... but the beauty of this option is that I can remove it anytime if the incessant ringing starts getting on our nerves.  

I love how the fort turned out.  The boys adore their new digs, and they currently only emerge for bathroom breaks and meals.  My husband is a genius.  And now that our summer project is finished, he too can finally relax in his own man cave.  As for me, it appears no one needs me at the moment... I think I'll go take a nap.