Boys = Fighting and Farting

When AB and I talked (well before we had kids) about how we would raise a boy we agreed (or at least I insisted) that my sons wouldn't have guns or shooting implements or have anything to do with fighting.

Then reality hit. For some reason "fighting" seems to be built into boys' psyche. We channeled Leif towards sword play and lightsabers, but even I have been loosening up on the toys that shoot things.

Like nearly all parents I know out there, we read to the kids regularly. When I am not sure whichever child I am reading to is paying attention, or to test their wakefulness at bedtime storytime I start changing the story. Inserting other names into the stories.

"Young Yolanda Skadi is yelling on a yellow yak."

"Now there are two Leif's on your head!"

Skadi is less receptive to this and usually tells me to "read it right mommy or don't read it at all".

Leif laughs.

Transformers are NOT my favorite toys in the world. Far from it. And when Leif starts asking for Transformer stories I try to keep my eyes from floating to the top of my head.

I have a new solution... there isn't much that ranks up there with stories about fighting... but farting gets dang close.

About a month or so ago, I started substituting some words here and adding in an occasional sentence about how stinky Earth is becoming due to all this flatulance.

And now I have to admit, those Transformer stories can be danged funny!

The only downside is that giggling little boys are usually not as prone to falling asleep during storytime.

Just my way of combating violence with "hilarious" bodily functions.