Dunk him!

Our annual stake carnival has a dunking booth. Each year the bigger boys like tossing the ball to try and dunk someone. This year, they wore swimsuits and climbed in themselves, bahahahahaha.

Benny bracing himself.  Now you see him....

Now you don't!

Now you see Max in the booth, and Benny winding up....

And splash! Down goes Max.

I think they each tried it half a dozen times or so.  While Bishop Richards visited and chatted, baby James drooled on his arm. He loves daddy's arm on his tummy.  He rode this way all around Sugarhouse Park and back to our house one day because the stroller made him scream.

Andrew chased bubbles around like a madman.

And Benny stood in line for face painting.  "Wook mom, I'm the wone wane-ger!"

Chubsa wubsa

I feel like Sweet Baby James went through a growth spurt. The 6 month clothing fits fine and he's 12 weeks old tomorrow. 

Here he is after Sunday dinner with Papa and Phin, who also seems bigger every week. I think JB took off baby J's clothes to show off his outie belly button. 

I matched the boys on purpose but me accidentally on Sunday. 

Little James has decided to stop screaming so much at us. He smiles, laughs and coos so much more.  When he does cry, we can usually figure out the reason more easily now. 

And -- you other parents know you talk about this too -- he has pooped three days in a row. Very unusual! He has been pooping about once a week since he was born. Saved us money on diapers. We had that size one box for a long time. 

Potty training? Um, no.

Last week Andrew was dry all night, and he suddenly wanted to wear underwear and go on the potty.  Those sound like signs that it's time to potty train, right?

Nah.

Don't wanna.

Don't feel like it.

Don't make me!  

That's me talking, not the Drewbers.

I do not like potty training. It takes months, it breeds bad feelings, it creates so many battles and it's messy (I'm reminded of this post about Max in 2008).

JB and I don't think we will push it yet. Max and Benny were well past three years old when it finally clicked, and Andrew isn't three until December. Plus I still have a baby that nurses pretty often. I have memories of sitting on the bathtub edge nursing a baby Andrew and begging Benny to "just go in the POTTY!" (Reminds me of this post from January 2011)

Andrew loves wearing Lightening McQueen and feeling the free-bum of no diaper, but doesn't quite get the concept of going to and on the toilet. We have the little potty waiting in the bathroom, and I'm hoping his older brothers can persuade him and help him along in this process. Wouldn't that be great?

Quit growing

Stop it.

Stop getting bigger.

They never obey me.

I joined Instagram two weeks ago (JB was at scout camp and I was bored). I've been using the hashtag #allboys when I post pictures of all four of them together. I may change it to #fourboyswhoownmyheart. Or #imissmychildrenwhentheyareasleepbutwishtheywerentsoloudwhentheywereawake. Too long?

School starts

My big boys started school this week!

Benny is in the morning kindergarten class, and Max is in the new 3rd/4th split class this year.

Benny is still getting to know the others in his class, while Max kind of knows a couple of kids in his class. He's excited to be with the older kids and he likes that he has a male teacher this year.

Andrew and James waited with me for Benny to be done with kindergarten.

Smiling after his first day!

Then we walked back to get Max, and I snapped this as he was running up already talking his head off about his day.

The boys spent pretty much every moment of the summer together and miss each other now that they are separated.

For example, there was an assembly at school.

Max: "Benny, I saw you in the assembly!"  Benny: "Reawy? I wooked for you and I heard them say your teachow's name!" (I'm assured those Ls and Rs will come this year).

Andrew walks around the house looking for the big boys, and when Benny is home from kindergarten he asks several times when it is time to go get Max.  But when they are together they still fight, don't worry. It's not all lovey-dovey around here, it's normal!

And we're waiting

I do love baseball. The smell of the grass, the crack of the bat, the yell of the umpire. I was ob-sessed with the St Louis Cardinals as a teenager, and I am transported back to those days when I get the opportunity to go to a Bees game.

My boys are still learning to appreciate baseball. Sweet baby James slept through a few innings.

I wuv him so much, he's so cutesy-wootsey chubbsa wubbsa...what was I saying?

Oh yes.  Baseball.

JB and I have explained strikes, balls, innings, etc several times, but Max and Benny kept talking about halftime and quarters. We watch considerably more football and basketball in our house fo sho.

And despite all our efforts to get them into the game and have them watch the action (we had GREAT seats), they kept begging to ride the little train in the outfield.  So Uncle Bart took the cousins out to the line, and JB went to join them.

FIFTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, it was finally their turn.

When I saw the picture I asked JB, "Who is the girl in the middle? Did Jane and Emily bring a friend?"  Nope -- she was a random girl who was also squeezed into their same car. And she's smiling away for JB's phone camera, too.

Must be a big baseball fan.

The Battle of the Bees

Once upon a time, the lord of the manor was doing yard work (for verily it was not a large manor, and the lord liked to care for his shrubbery and grounds).

And behold, the lord of the manor's two eldest sons were working alongside their father, or rather, chattering away to their father as they puttered beside him outside.

When suddenly, out of the shrubbery arose a swarm of upset, befuddled, enraged stinging insects. Call them bees, call them wasps, call them hornets -- verily they were sore angered.

Thus the stinging insects began to sting our lord of the manor.  He immediately raised his voice in alarm, and beckoned to his children to run into their home. And they did so.

The second son made it inside safely. But the demonized devils with stinger-weapons had only just begun to fight. They stung the elder son on the tender flesh of his upper thigh -- twice. And following him inside the kitchen entrance, they attacked again, getting him on his side.

He whooped, he yelled, he hollered. For verily if this 8-year-old lad could swear, he would have done so.

Now enter the lady of the manor on the scene, rushing to the aid of her family. She and the lord of the manor smacked and whacked the bees who had followed their oldest heir into their haven. Then she raced to apply a cold frozen pack (made by her own hand by the aid of Pinterest) to the reddening, swelling wounds.

It seemed all was well; the oldest son reclined on the settee for a brief respite, the second asked after his welfare, the third jumped up and down, and the fourth slept in his infant reclining swing.......

Then, came ROUND TWO.

Another enraged stinging insect had found his way to the heart of the family dwelling place, and buzzed his loud buzz right in the terrified ear of the oldest child. Chaos ensued again! The oldest ran screaming, the third kept jumping up and down, and the second stepped in front of the baby's swing and spread his arms wide to protect the youngest heir (bringing tears to his mother's eyes for his bravery).

The father and mother whacked and smacked again; arms flailing, eyes crazy, hair flying; until that fat striped stinging monster lay crushed on the ground, never to buzz no more.

When the dust settled, the family looked at each other, tense muscles slowly relaxing.

Then the second son broke the silence:

"Wow, mom. That was a battle. The battle of the bees!"