Boys Will Be Boys

Boys are messy.  Boys are loud.  Boys are energetic.  Boys will be boys.
Boys think they're tough.  Boys make funny noises.  Boys will be boys.
Boys can be sweet.  Boys can have potty mouths.  Boys will be boys.
Boys will lust after women.  Boys will take advantage of girls.  Boys are controlling.  Boys will be boys...?
We've been hearing a lot on the news about men sexually harassing or assaulting women.  There are some who would say that this is just the nature of the male sex.  They can't help themselves.  Men will be men.  Those people couldn't be more wrong.
Something that really boils my broccoli is when people brush things aside with an excuse such as "He's a man, what do you expect?" or "All men are just idiots".  I've been hearing that a lot in my adult life.  But I don't say anything.  I just smile and nod while inside I wonder, does this person consider me an idiot?
Believe it or not, men actually can control themselves.  They can be decent human beings.  It's all dependent upon the way they are raised and the choices they make.
I was raised to treat everyone with respect, to treat everyone the same.  It didn't matter what someone looked like.  It didn't matter if someone was mean to me.  I had to treat everyone kindly.  To this day, I still try to treat everyone with respect.
Having worked with children as long as I have, I have heard a lot of little boys repeat words that they probably shouldn't be repeating.  Not just swear words.  I've had to explain to kids why they shouldn't talk or joke around about their private parts or, even more importantly, private parts of the opposite gender.  This is psychology by Philip:  If a child is permitted to joke around about sensitive topics, such as private parts, they are basically being taught that they have no boundaries when it comes to human anatomy.  This makes them more comfortable with talking about the opposite gender in crude ways.  This in turn may (key word may) lead to these children growing up still not knowing boundaries.
While I was working in a restaurant, a lot of my co-workers, male and female, would talk about their or someone else's bodies.  I was usually the one trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.  It just shocked me how casually people talked about sex, and with so much detail.  It seemed as though people were only thinking about the body and not the person behind the body.
I could rant about this all day.  But I won't.  While raising your children, just remember:
Boys are messy.  Teach them to clean up after themselves.
Boys are loud.  Teach them to be considerate of those around them.
Boys can have potty mouths.  Teach them the correct ways to use (or not use) certain words.
Boys will be boys, but that doesn't mean they have to be idiots.

Don't Waste My Time

This time a year ago, I was working between 8-10 hours a day, 4-6 days a week.  But that's all I was doing.  While I was at home, I would waste my time on Facebook, playing video games, watching TV, or sleeping.  Usually sleeping, to be honest.
Now, I am working three jobs (one with random hours), I try to visit with my Little Brother every week, I blog every Thursday, I dog sit on occasion, and I dabble in the photographic arts.  I am also active in my church and volunteer at my church.  I could use a break!  So what do I do?  I consider the unused hours between everyday life and bedtime.  Call me crazy, but I'll soon be signing up for an online college course.  And I still apply to weekend child care jobs, despite my three jobs.  What is wrong with me?!
This year, I realized that are a lot of minutes in a day.  Why waste them?  I have found positive ways to spend my time.  Through my jobs, I'm not only making money, but I'm also helping the children I take care of.  I have become a part of their lives, someone to look up to.  Visiting with my Little gets me out of the house doing fun things.  I have the opportunity to be a good example to a child who needs a positive male role model in his life.  And yet, my Little has been the example for me.  While volunteering at church, I have learned more about myself and what I am capable of.
Am I tired?  No.  I'm exhausted!  But it's all worth it.  My life has changed so much this past year, for the better.  And I feel that this is the result of not wasting my time.  I am living life, loving life.  I live life differently than most people, but I enjoy what I do. 

What the BLEEP?!

One day, at the tender age of four years old, I called a kid an unkind word.  My older sister told my mom and I got to taste dish soap for the first (and last) time.  A couple of years ago, I was talking to my mom about this incident.  I didn't understand why I got my mouth washed out for calling someone a name.  My mom told me that I didn't just call someone a name.  I used the 'F' word. 
The word that I haven't used since that day 22 years ago is 'fraidy cat'.  (Notice that 'fraidy' starts with an 'F'.)  My older sister had told my mom that I had said the 'F' word. 
Needless to say, as a child, I was very careful about what I said.  If a fun-hearted name calling resulted in me drinking suds, what would something really vulgar result in?  Like poopy-face?  Or fartknocker?  Then I entered middle school.  It was like everyone was speaking a different language. 
My mom had taught my siblings and I to ask her or dad if we didn't know what a word meant.  So I knew better than to repeat any of the words I was hearing, especially after seeing the teachers' reactions to them.
Next came high school.  The language got even worse.  There was no way to get away from it.  Even after graduation.  I was surrounded by profanity at work and at college.  It just comes out so naturally from some people, without a thought.
So it came as no surprise to me when the 13-year old accused me of being a hypocrite.  In a previous post, I explained the 13-year old's "What the What" jar, in which he receives a token every time he curses.  (I'm proud to say that I haven't used it in a couple months.)  One day, after I put a token in the jar, the 13-year old confronts me.  He felt that it was unfair that he couldn't curse.
"You're an adult," he said.  "You curse all the time when you're not here."
Wow.  Just wow.
I guess I can see where he's coming from.  He probably hears profanity all the time in school, on the street, on TV, on the radio.  To him, it truly is an adult thing to do.  I tried to convince him that I did not use foul language.  He didn't believe me.  It honestly hurt my feelings, being accused of something I don't do.  But like I said, I can see where the 13-year old was coming from.
I believe that using profane language is plain dumb.  What does it accomplish?  Isn't there a better way to express yourself?  Shut the front door, there is a better way?  Well by golly, see if you can figure it out for yourself.

Adventures in Babysitting

I rarely have a boring day working with the boys.  We have fun days.  We have angry days.  We have silly days.  Every day is different.  I never know what to expect.  My favorite thing about the boys is that they always make me smile, even if it's not on purpose.
For the sake of this post, the boys will be known by the following titles:
The 5-year old will be known as 'French Fry'
The 11-year old will be known as 'His Majesty'
The 13-year old will be known as 'M'

M likes to keep to himself for the most part.  But over the summer, I like to think that we became buddies.  We went to Hershey Park one day.  M and His Majesty were arguing over who got to sit next to me on the roller coaster.  I had them guess what number I was thinking of.  M won.  So I sat with him.
While waiting in line, I don't remember what we were talking about, but M and I had a disagreement.  M raises his voice a little and asks "Do you want me to make a scene?"  Before I can reply, he says, clapping his hands once "Aaand cut!" as if he is a director ending a scene.  I have never been so proud of that boy!  That joke my day!
His Majesty is always fun to be around.  He's got such great energy and an awesome sense of humor.  He's one of those kids that likes to hide and then jump out and scream when you least expect it.  He's not very good at hiding, though.  (Don't tell him I said that!)
His Majesty can be quite bossy, though, thus the nickname.  He likes it when I say "Yes, Your Majesty."  He smiles, but then catches himself and says "please".  One day, I took the boys to this awesome playground.  His Majesty asked me to throw away his Capri Sun pouch (without saying please).  So I said "Of course, Your Majesty".  His Majesty glared at me and said "Not in public, Philip!".
The jokes this boy tells!  He loves 'Yo Momma' jokes.  We were telling each such jokes one day.  His Majesty starts out with "Yo Momma's so ugly, when One Direction saw her, they went the other direction."  I fought back with "Yo momma's so fat, she uses a boomerang to put on her belt."  French Fry then chimed in with "Yo Momma's so fat, she wears a yellow hat!"  French Fry won.
Speaking of French Fry...I spend most of my day with French Fry.  He randomly started calling me 'Nugget Head', so I call him French Fry. I'll often say his name to get his attention, then repeat it a couple more times.  I'll then say "French Fry!".  He looks up from whatever he is doing and says "My name's not French Fry!"  But, I got his attention!  Works every time!
French Fry loves playing on the computer at the library.  He usually plays Reader Rabbit, but the other day, he played The Berenstein Bears.  While listening to one of the stories, French Fry calls me over to tell me that Brother Bear had just said a bad word.
"He said 'shut up'!  Freak you Brother Bear!"
I told French Fry to use kind words then quickly went off to a corner of the library to bust up laughing.
French Fry also loves swimming.  One day, I took all three boys to the pool.  At one point, French Fry informs me that he has to poop.  So off he goes to the bathroom.  Fifteen minutes later, he's still in the bathroom, so I go in to check on him.  I know right away which stall he is in.  I follow the sound of splashing.  I get him to unlock the door for me.  He opens the door, stark naked, water and and toilet paper all over the floor.  He walks over to the toilet and pulls out his bathing suit.
"I didn't make it in time.  I need to wash my bathing suit."
Ok, Philip, stay calm, I think to myself.  I obviously can't let French Fry back in the pool.  So I fetch his clothes and begin dressing him.  We get his undies on (backwards) when he slips out of my grasp and runs out of the locker room.  He runs around the pool in nothing but his backwards underwear.  I catch him on his way to the parking lot.
Needless to say, we had a long talk on the way home.
As you all know, I love my job.  I love these boys.  They bring so much joy into my life.  We have our struggles, but we're always able to work through them. At the end of the day, M, His Majesty, French Fry and I are the best of friends.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Can Mormons Wear Hats?

I was born and raised a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormon church.  Growing up in the suburbs of Baltimore and D.C., there were plenty of Mormons to go around.  But when I was 15-years old, my parents moved my younger siblings and me to the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania.  I was the only Mormon in the high school.  I started to get asked a lot of questions.
The most commonly asked questions were:

• What do Mormons believe?
• Are Mormons Christian?
• Where did the name 'Mormon' come from?

In short, Mormons believe that Jesus died on the cross to atone for our sins and through him, all mankind may be saved.  I believe that answers the first two questions.  The name 'Mormon' comes from the Book of Mormon, a set of scriptures that goes hand in hand with the Bible.
But those aren't the only questions I've been asked.  I'm not here today to preach.  I'm here to clear up any misconceptions you may have about the Mormon church.  In order to write this post, I asked my fellow Mormon friends, via Facebook, what kind of off-the-wall questions people have asked them about their faith.  They did not disappoint.
Let me start off, however, with the more common, yet still strange, questions.

How many moms do you have?
I love answering this question!  I joke around with the person asking.  "I only have one mom.  My dad has 17 wives, but only one of them is my mom."  This is a joke, of course.  My mom is my dad's one and only wife.
You may be wondering why I get asked this a lot.  Well, back in the 1800s, some members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints practiced polygamy.   This practice also ended in the 1800s.

So what about the show 'Sister Wives'?
I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or the LDS church.  The family on 'Sister Wives' are members of the FLDS church, 'F' standing for fundamentalist.  Some members of the early LDS church disagreed with the change in marriage policy and branched off into a new sect.  Their name may be similar, but they are not Mormons.  The LDS church is the original, true-blue Mormon church.


Do Mormons celebrate holidays?
Yes, yes they do.  It is the Jehovah's Witnesses that don't celebrate holidays.


Why can't Mormons drink caffeine? 
This is up to personal interpretation.  I know plenty of Mormons who chug a Mountain Dew on a daily basis.  My family tries to stay away from caffeine.  Caffeine is addictive.  How many people do you know who can't start their day without a cup of coffee?  They can be quite irritable until they get their daily dose of Starbucks.
Speaking of coffee, that is something Mormons are not allowed to drink.  Mormons have a policy, for lack of a better term, called the Word of Wisdom.  The Word of Wisdom promotes a healthy lifestyle for members of the LDS church.  Things included in the Word of Wisdom are no smoking, no alcohol, not over doing it on red meat, and no coffee.  It's my personal belief that not partaking in any of these things leads to happier, healthier life.

Now on to the bizarre questions:

Can Mormons wear hats?
I don't see why not!

Do Mormons still drive horse and buggies?
Um, no.  We drive cars.  Actually, the official car of the Mormon church is the 15-seater mini van.  (Another joke!)
Funny story, though.  When my older sister was in Driver's Ed, her instructor told the class that there were only two groups of people in America that did not drive cars:  the Amish, and the Mormons.  My sister corrected her, of course.

I think it's ridiculous that Mormons don't accept blood transfusions! 
Again, that's the Jehovah's Witnesses.  We Mormons love life.  So, please, should the occasion arise, give me a blood transfusion!

Are Mormon girls allowed to wear makeup?
Of course!

When did the Mormons break apart from the Amish?
This question caught me off guard.  A co-worker asked me this when I was working at a restaurant.  The Mormons were never a part of the Amish faith or culture.

Now on to the really crazy questions that my friends posted on Facebook:

Do they force you to have babies?
Wow.  Um, no.  Is that a thing?  Can you be forced to have a baby?

Are you a baby killer?
Again, wow.  Who would even think to ask such a question?  One of the Ten Commandments states "thou shalt not kill".  No, Mormons are not baby killers.  And yes, we still follow the Ten Commandments.

These last two questions take the cake:

Do you really have to roll naked in your meat before you cook it?
I don't.  I don't know of anyone who does.  But I won't judge.  And, no, it's not in the Mormon guidebook.

 
Do Mormons really believe that when you die, you go to the moon to teach 8ft. Quakers about Joseph Smith?
As awesome as that would be, it's not true.

The moral of the story is:  Don't believe everything you hear!  If you have a question about the Mormon church, who better to ask than a Mormon?  Can't find a Mormon?  No problem!  Just visit mormon.org and chat with a missionary.  But don't get crazy with your questions!  Just remember, Mormons are human too.  They're not that different from you.



 

Text Speak: What Did You Just Say?

Call me old fashioned.  I still have a flip phone, an iPod, a GPS, and a digital camera.  Not all in one device.  I have four separate devices.  It may surprise you to hear this, but I use my phone to call and text people.  And that's about it, other than occasionally using it as an alarm.
Call me old fashioned again.  When I text, I use proper grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure.  I capitalize letters, use Oxford commas, and, yes, I spell out every single word.  No silly acronyms from me.  Not even an LOL!
As much as I love writing, I often have difficulty expressing my feelings and opinions in a way that my readers can understand.  I especially find it difficult to express myself in text messages.  I'll send a text and worry that the person receiving the text will think I sound bossy or angry.  I may or may not have a small addiction to exclamation points...
When 'text speak' became a thing, I was still pretty young.  I never really got into it, though.  And now, as an adult, I am paying the price for missing out.  I don't understand what other people are trying to express.  Everyday, I find myself on Google.  Today, I googled 'WYD'.  I have seen 'WYD' multiple times on Facebook and I finally got around to looking it up.  'What you doing?'.  Well no wonder I could never figure out what it meant.  That's not even correct grammar!
What's the point of text speak anyways?  Does it really save you that much time?  What are you going to do with that extra 8 seconds you saved by typing 'brb' instead of 'be right back'?
Now, I'm not hatin' on anyone who uses texting short cuts.  No, I'm just expressing what I feel.  With real words.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've 'got to go' assist my friend who is 'rolling on the floor laughing'.  I mean, who does that?

48-Hours

Every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is take my medication.  I take two pills to help lessen my anxiety and help me get through the day.
I've missed doses here and there before, but usually of just one of my pills.  I may have pill A, but I forgot to refill pill B.  A couple weeks ago, however, I went two days without taking either pill.  That's 48-hours of me, alone with my thoughts and fears.
I had already called for the refills to be...well...refilled.  But, you know how it is.  Life has a way of grabbing you by the ears and whisking you away.  My life had become pretty hectic.  So I forgot about my refills.

Day 1
The first day of being unmedicated went fairly smoothly.  I had to drive a friend to a doctor's appointment.  I acknowledged the fact that I didn't have any pills to take and told myself I would pick them up on the way home.  That didn't happen.  Life had me by the ears.
It was a perfectly normal day, up until the evening.  I began to feel light headed and nauseous.  My arms and legs got a little shaky.  This had happened before.  Just a side effect of missing one of my pills.  No worries.  I'd pick the pills up in the morning.

Day 2
This was a rough day for me.  It started out like a normal day, but as the day went on, I began to get more and more agitated.  My thoughts began to randomly race around like my brain was trying to win the Indy 500.  I was sitting there, eating dinner, asking myself how I had survived this long.  How was I ever going to pay for school?  I think I need a new car.  Where would that money come from?  Why am I still single?  (To be fair, I'm always asking myself that question.)  I became so overwhelmed with fear that I just wanted everything to end.  I wanted to go to bed and never wake up again.  Yeah, it was pretty intense.  On top of that, the nausea, shakiness, and light headedness had only gotten worse.

The next day, I woke up, ate breakfast, and went straight to the pharmacy.  I was still pretty anxious, but by dinner time, I was back to being myself again.  I had, and have, the same doubts and fears, but they no longer consume me.
The important to thing to note from my experience is that I realized I was not okay.  I realized I needed to get my medication.  I have heard of people, young and old, who decide they are all right, that they don't need to take their medications anymore.  It could be true.  Some people actually do outgrown their mental illnesses, or learn how to live with them.  But the choice to quit medicating is not yours to make alone.  You should always talk to your doctor first.  Get there opinion.  Schedule a follow-up appointment so your doctor can see for themselves how you are doing.
After the 48-hour experience I had, I now know that, as much as hate to admit it, I need my medicine to get through my day.  The next time I run low on pills, I will be grabbing my own ears, thank you very much, and taking myself to the pharmacy.

Adulting: The Worst Decision I Never Made

After ten years of practicing photography, I feel confident in my ability to take good pictures.  After thirteen years of babysitting, I feel confident in my ability to work well with children.  After only one year of blogging, I feel confident in my ability to express my feelings through written word.  But after nine years of being an adult, I am becoming less and less confident in my ability to survive.
Many questions come to mind:

• Why can't I work my dream job without going to college?

• Why are other adults so weird?

And, most puzzling of all:

• Who was the genius who invented money?

Needless to say, I have been struggling at 'adulting' lately.  I want to get my own place, I want to finish school, I want to jump straight into my dream job.  What's holding me back?  Money!
In order to get an apartment, I would need to get a third job.  To continue my education, I would need to get a fourth job.  And a fifth job.  By then, I won't even have time for school.  So maybe I should just quit my jobs (note to boss:  I'm not quitting any time soon!  Don't panic!) and take out a loan...or seven.  That way, I can finish school, get my dream job, and spend the rest of my life earning money to give back to the bank.  This is the American dream, people!
And don't get me started on the privileges of being an adult.  As a child, I longed for the day when I could finally eat a bowl of ice cream without someone telling me I couldn't.  Now that I can, I find that I shouldn't.  I've got to stay healthy.  My quick metabolism is quickly slowing down.  All that ice cream just sits in my gut.  Most men have a beer belly.  I have a mint chocolate chip belly.
Now, back to school.  I hated high school with a passion.  I couldn't wait to get out of there.  Now, I wish I were back, not in high school, per se, but back to going to school for free.  Back to the teachers handing out free copies of the textbooks.  Back to $2 cardboard pizzas instead of $15 salads.  Ok, scratch that.  Maybe I don't miss the food so much.  But you get my point.  I miss the days when things were handed to me on a cheap green, plastic tray rather than having to pay for my silver platter.
The worst thing about an adult, though, is that I had no choice.  Adulthood was thrust upon me.  High school graduation, which should be one of my proudest memories, is now one of my greatest regrets.  I didn't choose the adult life.  The adult life chose me.  And it chose poorly.

It Just Makes Me So Angry!

I have been blessed with a great deal of patience (and humility).  I don't get angry very often.  In fact, the 11-year old once told me that I don't get angry, just frustrated.
Can you keep a secret?  I do get angry.
I get angry when people don't use turn signals.  So I made a game out of it the other day.  A guy in the next lane over obviously wanted to move over to my lane.  He stuck his nose in front of me, but I carefully scooted forward so he couldn't get in.  He backed out.  A couple seconds later, he tried again.  Again, I didn't let him in.  Finally, the turn signal came on.  I slowed down and let the guy move over.
I get angry when adults act like children.  So I quit my job at a restaurant and got a job with people who are supposed to act like children:  children.
I get angry when I see people (children and adults) disrespecting their parents.  So I give my parents hugs and tell them how much I love them.
I get angry when the IRS says I owe them money.  So I write them a check.  Wait...
The point I'm trying to make is that I try to find a positive way to release my anger.  Sure, I'm probably not releasing as much anger that way, but I don't keep it bottled up inside.  God gave us dance music with a lot of bass for a reason!  Rocking out in my car to Zedd and Martin Garrix certainly helps me unleash my anger.
So the next time you're at Walmart walking behind that old lady who takes two steps a minute, don't just quickly brush by her in a minor fit of anger.  Ask her if she needs assistance.  Start a conversation with her.  Make her day brighter.  It'll make your day brighter too.

Ms. Earley's 3rd Grade Class

In January of the year 2000, my whole life changed for the better.  As I have mentioned in previous posts, I was diagnosed with a social anxiety disorder at a young age.  Because of my anxiety, especially my selective mutism, my mom decided it was best for me to be home schooled.  From Kindergarten through 2nd grade, I had the same teacher:  Mrs. Mom (I didn't call her that by the way.  It was just 'mom'.).  Halfway through my 3rd grade year, after being successfully prescribed with medications and treatments, I asked my mom if I could go to public school.  She felt that I was ready.
In the first month of the Millenium, I was enrolled in Harman Elementary and assigned to Ms. Earley's class.  Now imagine, a kid who is terrified of people and doesn't even speak to kids his own age, going to public school.  What had I gotten myself into?!
Fortunately for me, Ms. Earley was the perfect teacher for me at that time in my life.  She was kind and didn't give me funny looks like some adults did when they thought I wasn't looking.  She treated me like she treated her other students:  with love and care.  But not everyone in the classroom was so warm at first.  I got a lot of dirty looks from the girls, and the boys didn't know what to do with me.  But one girl, Jenny, decided to take me under her wing.  And, by some miracle, I was perfectly comfortable with talking to her.  In fact, she became my spokeswomen...er...-girl.  I would whisper things into her ear, and she would repeat what I said.  Ms. Earley even put our desks together so I would feel comfortable answering questions in class, always through Jenny.
As the school year progressed, I became more and more comfortable with my class mates and made plenty of friends, all of whom I was comfortable speaking with.  But, as much as I wanted to, I just couldn't bring myself to talk to Ms. Earley.
I don't remember when it was.  It was probably towards the end of the year.  One day during reading time, I had to use the restroom.  I rose my hand, using the sign for the letter "T" as was required at Harmans.  Ms. Earley didn't see me.  She, too, was reading.  So, after weighing my options, I stood up, walked over to Ms. Earley's desk and asked "May I use the bathroom?"  And you know what she said?  Without looking up from her book (must have been a good one!) she asked "Boy or girl?".  I said that I was a boy.  She looked up from her book, saw who had spoken, and I swear her eyes teared up a little.  She calmly handed me the boy's bathroom pass, as if nothing momentous had occurred.  That is the moment that changed my life.  Instead of excitedly exclaiming "Yes!  You may have the bathroom pass!  You may have all the bathroom passes!", she stayed calm and treated me like a regular student.  Doesn't sound like that big of a deal.  But for me, a child who was used to getting lectured for being impolite for not speaking, a child who was used to being treated delicately, like a China doll, was finally treated like everyone else.
The next day, however, Ms. Earley had added something new to my desk.  A Root Beer scented scratch-and-sniff sticker.  She told me that for everytime I spoke to her, I would get another sticker.  I didn't mind.  Who complains about stickers?  That smell like Root Beer?!  My desk was filled with stickers by the beginning of June.
So at this time in my life, I would just like to thank Ms. Earley and those students in her class.  My life was forever changed.  I saw the beauty and kindness that humanity has to offer.  Because of Ms. Earley's 3rd grade class, I became a changed man...er...boy.


p.s.  Because I started 3rd grade in January, I missed picture day.  So I cheated!  The above picture is actually from Mrs. Resnick's 4th grade class.  But that's another story.

No Tech Day

Last Friday, the boys and I had a No Tech Day.  After struggling to get the teenager out of bed ("What's the point?  I might as well sleep all day.") and listening to the younger boys complain about being bored (after a grueling four minutes), it was time to step up my game.
First came Twister.  The spinner got broken, so that didn't last very long.  Next came wrestling.  That's always fun.  Until it goes too far.  So, it was time to build a fort.
We gathered the chairs from the dining room and made a square.  I had a top sheet ready, but the boys insisted on using every blanket in the house.  The fort we built was huge!  Once the fort was finished we played a game the boys called "Slenderman".  They had thirty seconds to get from the fort to a hiding place.  I then had about two minutes to find them before they got back to the fort.  We had a blast!  Until one of the dogs jumped on top of the fort.  No worries there, though.  The boys fixed it up and made it even stronger than before.
Lunchtime came along while the boys were playing Bop-it or building with Jenga blocks.  We had had such a good day by that point that I decided we could watch one movie, taking a break from the No Tech Day.  After two hours of Jim Carrey fighting thugs while wearing a green mask, we continued our No Tech Day.  Back to Bop-it and Jenga.
After a while, the 11-year old brought out his electric ball.  You know what I'm talking about.  One of those globes that has electricity running through it.  When you put a finger on it, the electricity follows your finger.  He set it up in the middle of the fort.  We spent a good hour and a half in the fort shocking each other.  The boys would put one hand on the globe and use the other hand to go up and down my forearm.  At one point, one the boys asked what was burning.  It was my arm hair.  It smelled awful, but the boys thought it was the coolest thing.  It was actually fairly hot.  Not cool at all.  But, again, we had a blast.
My boss, who I just call 'mom', got home while we were working on MadLibs. The boys started complaining to her about the long, boring, torturous day I had put them through.  But I know better.  They may not realize it, but they enjoyed themselves.  We had rough patches throughout the day, such as calling each other names and hitting each other, but I also saw the boys bonding, which doesn't seem to happen much when I'm around.  They told each other jokes, talked about their trip to the beach they had recently returned from.  They even discussed politics!  Imagine that!  A 13- and 11-year old discussing the state of the Union.  I thoroughly enjoyed my tech free day with these fine young men.  I'm kind of tempted to do it again.  Heaven help those boys!

The Power of Reading

There is nothing more enjoyable, in my opinion, than reading picture books to young children.  Seeing and hearing their reactions is priceless.  Here is a quick list of some favorites that the 5-year old and I both enjoyed.

• The Hair of Zoe Fleefenbacher Goes to School by Laurie Halse Anderson and Ard Hoyt
• The Very Cold, Freezing, No Number Day by Ashley N. Sorenson
• Wiggle by Doreen Cronin
• The Pigeon books by Mo Willems
• The Duckling Gets a Cookie!? by Mo Willems
• It's Hard to Be Five by Jamie Lee Curtis and Laura Cornell
• Dragons Rule, Princesses Drool by Courtney Pippin-Mathur
• The Arthur books by Marc Brown
• Chu's Day by Neil Gaiman
• Froodle by Antionette Portis
• Not a Box by Antionette Portis 
• Baghead by Jarrett J. Krosoczka
• The Boy Who Lost His Bumble by Trudi Esberger
• Pretend by Jennifer Plecas

This is just a handful of books that kept the 5-year old's attention.  This kid used to hate being read to.  He now looks forward to me reading with him.  He even memorizes parts of books and blurts out the words before I do!  My hope is that my reading to him has opened up a new world to him.  I hope that, as he grows up, he continues to read and enjoy the books he reads.  It's becoming more and more difficult to find kids who love reading, so I take pride in knowing that I have assisted at least one child in finding his way to the literary world, where nothing is impossible.  

The Colors of Patriotism

Happy belated Independence Day!  I hope yours was as awesome as mine.  I spent the evening in Harrisburg with some friends.  There was a food truck festival going on with fireworks afterwards.  I found a food truck with a short line, so I bought myself an overpriced pretzel and strawberry lemonade and headed back to where my friends and I agreed we would meet.  I was the first one back.  So, I decided to do some people watching.
Harrisburg, though small, is a city of great diversity.  Looking around, I saw people of many different nationalities and cultures.  I heard many different languages being spoken.  But what stuck out the most was the one thing everyone had in common:  the 4th of July.
Everyone at the festival, as far as I knew, was American.  Even though some people had different colored skin and some people spoke with accents or in completely different languages, everyone was celebrating being an American.  I saw a young Muslim family waving hand-held American flags.  My friends and I sat near an African family, the parents speaking with an accent.  Everyone was so friendly and just having a good time.
This, in my opinion, is what being an American looks like.  Different colored skin.  Different accents and languages.  Different styles of dress.  I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the city, surrounded by my fellow patriots.