Iains Say the Darndest Things

(the Viking-Knight-Beach bum)




Singing: Oh, Mama, oh Mama. Oh, she's a good good good good good mama.
(why, thank you :))



As I was putting him to bed the other night:

Iain: Mama, when you grow up, you can be a knight!
Me: Really? What do knights do?
Iain: (thinking) Well, they kick balls, and they squish bugs, and when they get mad they kick people.
Me: (mock horror) Oh no, Iain. Knights are good. They don't kick people. Maybe when they get mad they kick balls or pillows or something.
Iain: (in a creepy, drawn-out little voice, full of mischief) I like baaaaaad knights.
Me: No, we like good knights.
(later, during our nightly "Thank You Jesus for" ritual)
Iain: Thank You Jesus for baaaaad knights.



(Here, he's got what he calls "my big hands" on his feet. Translation? My oven mitts. And this is what he does when I tell him to freeze for the camera.)





As he sits down to eat his Curious George Fruit Thingies (and yes, that is the technical name): I am a snack-eater.




(talking to Nona on the phone. And chillin' apparently.)





The other day, I was trying to teach Cory to sign "I love you." So I'd say and sign "I...love..." and he'd fill in the blank (usually with "Mama!" - be still my heart.) But then, oh yes, he remembered the Big Brother.

Me: I...love...
Cory: Eeeen!
Iain: (sitting nearby in the red chair, reading a book, not once looking up or noticing the goings-on) thankyou.
(Just like that. Running the words together and like nothing funny was going on - I was cracking up. But maybe that was just the long-term effects of two little boys on my mental capacity. Or the fact that I am, after all, a Schweizer. And if you know us, you know what I mean. But here, once more without the commentary).

Me: I...love...
Cory: Eeen!
Iain: thankyou.
Me: I...love...
Cory: Eeen!
Iain: thankyou.

And it went on and on about six times. Hilarious.

Edited to add one more:
Jeremy: I'm going to run the water in the tub, and then I'm going to come back and throw you in.
Iain: (worried) No,gently put me in the tub.

Jeremy: (coming to get Cory) Okey Cory, I'm going to throw you in the tub.
Iain: Nooooo! Don't throw him in! He's my son!!!!

By Request, Some Pictures!

Some older ones from the Middle House that I keep meaning to post:

Here, you can see the rare species of crazy boys. Look! Two at the same time! They love squishing their faces up to the glass to scare you off. But don't be fooled. Sometimes - most times - they look sweet as pie.




(My word, if he doesn't have the sweetest brown eyes you ever did see...)


Here's Cory shushing the airplanes:



Fun times outside:






Iain saying, "Tut tut, looks like rain!"


Sweet boy.

Park, Party, Pool!

Lots of pictures today, few words. I'm chatting with Jenna as I upload. Enjoy!

A morning at the park:



Our church had an invite-a-friend cookout and school's out party.

Jeremy participated in the sack race! The boys stood on the side and watched, with Cory yelling "Hop! Hop!" and trying his best to get his feet off the ground. Jeremy' team, unfortunately, lost miserably.



Iain's first time getting his face painted. He asked for B - I - G (he spelled it out). And a cow on his hand.





The ponies were fun! The boys LOVED brushing them especially. Iain rode one and enjoyed it, but he wouldn't do it again when they offered.




Today we went to the pool with some friends. Iain had a blast! (And this after spending the morning whining and telling me how he didn't like swimming and wouldn't go. Ha!) Cory was cautious but enjoyed himself pretty well.





Doesn't Iain look tall and skinny?




I love Cory's face in this one!

How to Make Friends

One of the hardest things about moving up here has been starting over. I mean, not knowing anyone. At the Middle House, one time, I realized I needed a tablespoon of baking powder to finish a (really good) cake. Are you serious? I have to load up two children right before dinner, drive to Wal-Mart, unload them, fight the crowds to the baking aisle, get that one tiny can, stand in line for ten minutes, get them back in the car, drive home, unload them (by now they're fussing because dinner is late), bring them in, feed them dinner and oh yeah, the cake still isn't ready.

So I (bravely) went next door, and asked my neighbor (whom I had met once or twice) to borrow some. They have a little daughter, and seemed friendly and approachable. And then that evening, I brought them some cake. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Or not. I never heard from them again. They didn't even return my dish. I promise, the cake was good!

Perhaps I have the black thumb of friendship.

Yesterday at the library, I looked around at all the moms with kids the ages of my own, and hoped for a chance to talk to someone. Surely someone out there has room in their little black book for one more friend. Aha, I see her.

She has a boy a little older than Iain.
She has the stay-at-home mom uniform on (rather than the professional mom ensemble, which shows a possible lack of time for spontaneous trips to the park).
She looks nice enough.
And, oh yes, glory be, I hear her talking to the librarian about homeschooling!
And better yet, about Sonlight curriculum, the very one I am investigating for my boys!

I (bravely) approach her.

Me: Excuse me, did I hear you say you use Sonlight? (ah yes, that was a brilliant line.)
Her: Yes. (um, see, I just tossed you the conversational ball. You have to toss it back now. Give me something here, anything!)
Me: (faltering. She sure was chatty with the librarian not two seconds ago.) Um, do you like it? (stupid question. If she didn't, why would she be using it? Trying to cover, I continue) I'm thinking of using it for my kids.
Her: Yes, I like it. There's not enough seat work, though. I have to use some other stuff for that. Otherwise I just read [to her son] all day.
Me: Oh. (insert inane responses and small talk here)
Her: (insert inane responses and small talk here)

Awkward.

She gave me her name and number, in case I had more questions. That was nice. But after the way the conversation went, I think the death knell was sounded on that possible friendship before it began.

Sometimes taking the (brave) initiative really doesn't pay.