Boys Will Be Boys

I was away from the house for a bit this weekend when Katie sent me this picture of the boys.  I replied that it was the perfect picture for a poster detailing “boys being boys.”

A good friend recently posted pictures of her daughters’ high school and college graduations on Facebook. I was reminded that the days of our “boys being boys” are fleeting. Being aware of that helps turn simple mud puddles into awesome memories.

If the art of manipulation is a sign that mud puddles will soon be a thing of the past, Elliott is about to be a very clean boy.  You see, Elliott has gained a good understanding of which of his requests in our house will be met with a YES, and which will die at the hands of the dreaded NO.  So dreaded in fact, he has adopted a strategy that bypasses all roads to denial.  Here is an example that took place at a recent bedtime:

“Dad, nobody drinks chocolate milk at bedtime.” 

It is important to note here that this could not have been mistaken for a question. Elliott was stating a fact that he was begging me to prove wrong.  I didn’t bite.  So he went on to phase two.

“Hey dad, I have an idea.  I have juice in the mornings.  Maybe I could have juice tomorrow morning, then chocolate milk the next morning, then juice the next morning, then chocolate milk the next morning, then that would be a new pattern.  At this point, while I could still recognize the “non-question” that was being buried beneath a pile of pattern poop, I should have issued a generic no and ended the whole scheme.  Whatever you’re after Elliott the answer is no.  But I wasn’t big enough.  I couldn’t resist. I was drug into the world of four year old logic like a fall nut gets whisked away in a squirrel’s mouth.  But I had him where I wanted him. Playing the pattern card was about to be a big mistake.

“Elliott, do you even know what a pattern is?” (I promise God, if he quotes Webster here he gets chocolate milk three meals a day for life).

“Yes,” he answered.

“Would you mind telling me what a pattern is?” I asked.  Oh, I couldn’t wait to hear his definition.

“A pattern is when you have juice one morning, then chocolate milk the next, then juice the next, then chocolate milk the next.  That’s a pattern.”

So much for asking him to use it in a sentence.

The next morning, I heard some rustling around in the kitchen.  When I investigated I found the refrigerator door wide open, and Ian standing with a half gallon of juice in his hands.  He had a strained look on his face that reminded me of one of those guys on the World’s Strongest Men attempting to lift a Volkswagen higher off the ground than the rest of the competition. 

“Ian, what are you doing?” I asked.

“Getting some juice.”

“Why don’t you just ask?”

Just then Elliott showed up from out of the blue.  Like a ghost, only more haunting and less invisible.  And he decided to answer for Ian:

“He’s afraid you’ll say no.”

Fleeting, I keep reminding myself, Fleeting.