Pulling off yard work and other household chores with our sons trying to help is always interesting.
A few weekends ago, after being put off all winter, Pam and I went about emptying a shed in our yard in the hopes of being able to throw out or give away half of the contents we never use or will need.
For that to happen, everything had to be removed essentially to inventory what had accumulated over the years. That was primarily my job, but there was some help. Carson, in particular, loves working his parents on a job. If clear on what’s happening and what needs to be done, he usually is a huge help.
Beckett is not much into hard work. He just wants to play. If he’s forced to help, he always finds a way to incorporate what he wants to do into the task. For example, while Carson was rolling out of the shed with some pool equipment and I was sweeping it out, I heard Beckett order Carson to stop what he was going.
I initially thought it was a nice gesture, hoping he was going to run over and help Carson because his hands were full. That was not the case, however. From inside I could see he was dribbling a few soccer balls across the yard and wanted to chip them over Carson’s head into the shed where I was. He was two for three on that feat with the one failure as luck (as well as logic) would have it hitting Carson in the head.
As Beckett quickly tried to reenact the series of shots, I punted the balls into the backyard to make him run and had Carson take over sweeping.
While that was going on, and noticing my attention was diverted, I turned and noticed Carson successfully throw several objects over a nearby fence. That was irritating, but I was more aggravated with Beckett for disrupting us in the first place.
When we got around to the other side of the fence to retrieve what Carson threw over — two old pool toys and the cover to a hibachi grill — I noticed a soccer ball whiz over my head and then another. Apparently Beckett was returning those earlier punts.
When it comes to bad language, there are obvious bad words that are unacceptable, but there are others as well a little harder to categorize.
In Beckett’s case, one random day he started saying, “boy” and “dude” to everything. Due to their overuse that became annoying, those words made it on to the growing list of words he’s not to use under any circumstance.
He didn’t like that too much. When he’s not too fond of something, he seems to have adopted a unique approach that involves a lot of questions about how things got to that point.
What he’s trying to do is wear me down in the hopes I will cave and retreat from an earlier decision or punishment (as is usually the case). Unfortunately, his incessant questioning has worked in the past and I’m embarrassed to admit it.
While working through the questions and trying to stay as patient as possible, I noticed Carson had left the room. That was unusual because he usually likes a front-row seat to watch his big brother get in trouble.
It turns out Carson was retrieving his augmentative and alternative communication device that he uses to speak. He spent some time on it before coming back into the room saying “boy” and “dude” over and over again on his device.
That resulted in Beckett reminding me what’s fair is fair. Therefore, I temporarily disabled the keys from Carson’s device.
The end result of all that was both boys were mad at me, but the good news was there was silence for a little while.
Grocery shopping alone these days is a guilty pleasure of mine.
I find peace in it, particularly after taking both kids to the store on several occasions.
Rarely do Pam or me head to the grocery store with both kids. They are both too big to be in the cart anymore, and they both have little self-control when it comes to wanting to buy food, especially the bad stuff.
If the boys have the man-up advantage on me, I usually focus on Carson because he’s the flight risk. He will run away and keep running if the mood strikes. It’s an unfortunate reality, although one we have grown accustomed to dealing with over time.
Beckett knows I’m distracted by Carson and takes advantage of me. He slips into the cart little bags of junk food and candy without me knowing it. He got me really good on our last trip to the store.
Since I was preoccupied with Carson, I didn’t even see the M&Ms, gum and ice cream he had snuck into the cart until I was unpacking the bags when we got home.
All of these happenings could be why I found myself wandering aimlessly through the grocery store on a recent rainy weekend afternoon. I was enjoying the relative tranquility of it amid the rows and rows of fluorescent lights and dull hum from the freezers.