Wordless Wednesday: The Force Is Strong In This One

Judge me by my size, do you?

An Epic Battle

What is this, you might be thinking?

A very, very epic battle.  In the dark.  Cuz that is cool.

Legos

My son never asks me to play Legos.  

It's something he and his Daddy do together.  

So when he asked me the other day (Daddy was at work, and I was second choice, but whatever, I'll take it), I made a big deal out of how flattered I was to play.  

I immediately sat down, grabbed the Lego Star Fighter he had made and begin to fly it around the room, saying "Ptchew, Ptchew," like I had seen  him and his Daddy do.

"No, no, no!" Boyo said, very distraught.  "Dat's NOT how we pway!"

"Oh, okay,"  I said surprised.  "How do we play?"

"You go through the box to find the Storm Trooper's head," he instructed me.

I began to get the feeling that I was being played -- not getting to play, rather my Mommy finding skills were being dug out.  

 

So I spent the next hour, digging through this:  

To find a head for this: 

That's love, people.

And while I was digging, I unearthed all sorts of Lego weapons.  Apparently, Lego men have organized and created a militia.  Who knew?

And it quickly became VERY apparent that I was raised with three sisters.

"Here's a tree," I told my son.

"That's a grappling hook," he informed me.

"Oh.  Well, here's a wrench."

"That's a storm trooper arm," he said.

"Oh.  Well, here's a knife," I told him.

"MOM.  That's a sword.  Maybe we should wait for Daddy to come home."

I'm not sure if I'm sad to be fired or relieved. 

Darth Maul Underwear

I've mentioned previously how Boyo decided to potty train himself.


The thing is though, he refuses to wear underwear. At home, I don't mind if he's running around with his business hanging out... but I have a problem with it when we go out in public. Around other people. Who seem horrified.



But he really, really, REALLY hates underwear. And over the past two weeks, he and I have had some EPIC battles over whether or not he had to wear pants in public. I mostly won.


Then something clicked... see, Boyo has four Star Wars shirts that he must wear every day. So I figured, why not underwear? We went to Target to take a look and see what they had.


Not only did they have Star Wars underwear, they had Darth Maul underwear. You know, this guy?

For whatever reason, my son loves this guy. He tells me, "Dawth Maul my FAVOWITE! I be Darth Maul!" He wants a Darth Maul cape and light saber. He chooses to be Darth Maul when he plays Star Wars with his Daddy and his sister. And he's never even seen Episode I.

So the Darth Maul underwear was a big hit. And he hasn't had any accidents since he put them on. Sure, I have to wash them every night, but fine. That is less work than having to clean up accidents.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, Thank you, Ray Park, for getting my son to wear underwear.

Star Wars and Wine

Remember when I said I was surrounded?

My husband cleaned up dinner the other night. He couldn't find the cork for the wine bottle. So he improvised. And I found this the next morning.

What is that, you may be thinking?

It's a Storm Trooper Cookie Cutter.

Star Wars

My son and daughter share my husband's love of Star Wars. My husband has a pop up Star Wars book that Boyo loves to look at with him.

And if you ask Girlie who her favorite princess is, she will gleefully shout out "Leia!"

But what made my husband really burst with pride? Girlie's synopsis of the entire saga.

She pointed to a picture of Darth Vader and explained it to me (since I don't "get" Star Wars): "Momma, this is Darth Vader. He is not a bad guy, but he makes bad choices when he listens to the Memperor. But when he listens to his son, he makes good choices and saves the day! The End."

I'm surrounded.

Smart and Strong and Power

I've mentioned before - a few times - how I want to raise Girlie to be stong and independent and to think of herself as more than a pretty face or a princess.

And I believe I've mentioned that I am struggling with how to do so.

So I was quite pleased when Girlie told me the other day that she is "smart and strong."

"That's right!" I told her, mentally patting myself on my back.

"And I have power and I have to use it to fight the bad guys. And mean dogs," she continued.

"You are absolutely correct," I told her. "You are smart. And you are strong. And you do have power. But I don't want you to fight bad guys or mean dogs. I want you to tell Mommy or Daddy or the police."

"Okay," she told me with a scary gleam in her eye. "I will use my power to fight the bad guys. And then I'll kill them! And then I'll tell Daddy and the police."

Scrambling, since I was unaware that "kill them" was in her vocabulary, I debated telling her that if she killed anyone, I didn't want to know. However, I decided to be a responsible parent instead, and I inquired as to what "kill them," means.

"It means to hurt them so they can't hurt you. And you have to use your power and your smarts and your strengths."

"Right," I said slowly. "But how do you hurt them?"

"You fight them with a light saber."

No more Star Wars.

Raising A Boy Takes Some Getting Used To...

...
Why, you ask?

My son wanted to watch Star Wars. Okay, that I get.

He wanted his light saber too. Okay, this also makes sense.

He pointed to the robots/clones/drones/whatever the hell they are and shouted, "Bad Guys!" Again, makes perfect sense.

Then he slammed his light saber into the TV screen and yelled, "I fight da robots!"

That I don't get.

However, it made perfect sense to my husband.