Monday, March 15, 2010

Battle to the weird

I love my mother dearly, but I do sometimes question the wisdom of her gifts. Swords, for example. Not real swords, mind you, but long padded kind of swords that might trick you into thinking they can't hurt that bad, but mother of god if you get whacked hard enough they'll still raise a welt. Naturally the boys instantly loved them and many swashbuckling battles ensued. Then of the swords was left out despite repeated warnings and a Great Dane decided to get in on the fun and well, we were down to one sword. But before you feel too sorry for the boys, let me remind you that the boys also have hard plastic lightsabers. Also gifts from grandma, this time after we had a trip to the park where the boys spent pretty much the entire time jealously eyeing these toys in the hands of two other boys at the park. Unlike the padded swords, these toys make no show of not hurting. They are solid plastic and if you get whacked with a lightsaber, by god you remember it for at least as long as a Star Wars trilogy marathon.

Anyhow, at this particular moment I'm questioning the wisdom of these gifts in direct response to the boys' current game. Right now they're playing a game in which they are cowboys who are incidentally armed with a sword and a lightsaber. This game if frequently punctuated with my shrill warnings that "if you hit your brother with that lightsaber you are in big trouble!"
"You can have the good sword," says Little Dog, handing the padded sword to his big brother. Apparently this is the good sword because you can whack your brother with it and not get in big trouble. Big Dog takes the sword and the game begins anew.

As Big Dog vigorously chops away at his brother's light saber with the foam sword, Little Dog is being very good about remembering my warning. He doesn't try to strike back (hahahaha, get my little joke? He has the lightsaber and doesn't "strike back". Man, I'm hilarious.) After a bit, Little Dog calmly observes "You can't break it! It's indestructible."
"Yep," agrees Big Dog.
"Then I guess we'll be friends." Little Dog states as though that is the most obvious answer to the situation. "Now let's have a dance!" he says, with the same intonation an Englishman might say "now let's have a cup of tea." And the boys start bounding around the room, "dancing" with their swords. Weird, but at least I can let up with the screamy mom voice for a while.


geekymummy said...

Your mum is secretly trying to get back at your for some transgression as a child!

I can just imagine the mayhem! Mine are currently obsessed with a dinosaur-head-on-a stick that Rosa got at the dentists.

Anonymous said...

I can't stop dancing!


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