Boy One brings home a new toy airplane from his grandma’s house and is showing it to Boy Two, whose comment is “Wow! . . . . what kind of GUNS does it have on it?”
I took the kids over to my mom’s today to play in her little pool, seeing how it will probably be the last warm day this summer. After all three kids stripped off their clothes and jumped into their swimsuits, they waste an hour either swimming and splashing, or complaining that they didn’t WANT to play outside, they don’t LIKE the water, mom is being MEAN again, blah, blah, blah.
So Boy One finishes, goes inside to change back into his clothes, and brings his wet things outside to dry in the sun. Boy Two finally drifts inside to do the same, but calls out to me that he can’t find his underwear. No, it’s not under the bed. Or under the blanket. Or anywhere else that I immediately though of. Now, it may be obvious to the reader, but I was not brought up with boys and it took me a minute to realize where the elusive underwear was. Yup. Big brother is wearing it.
This is no problem for a boy. Boy Two finds Boy One, quickly questions him, then strips him of his pants and underwear, takes the underwear, and pulls it on himself. There now. Everyone is happy. And Mama had to leave the room to keep from breaking down in a fit of giggles.