Buddies

With everyone else at school all day, the relationship between these two has been sweet to watch.

Tub time. (After some disaster, I'm sure.)

Sage kept trying to sit in the second dump truck, but it kept dumping her. Go figure.Snowcones at the soccer game

Hanging out in the boys' room

Gary will kareen down the driveway, and as far down the rode as his wheels will take him. Sage has learned, by sad experience, that she hasn't quite mastered steering. She is totally content to follow him on foot, down... and back.

Family Home Evening last Monday. Sage will hop up there with whoever is leading the opening song and conduct along with them. This week it was Gary, and it was adorable enough that I had to hop(haha) up and go get the camera.

Now don't think for a second that they are ALWAYS sweet to each other, but there are enough "Awww," moments, that I've been able to capture a few.

Tiny Dancer

They played warm-up music for the football players between games Saturday, and Sage took it upon herself to provide a little pre-game entertainment.

You can tell she's been watching Lexi and her kick lines.

Her facial expressions crack me up. I wish I'd let the camera run for three more seconds because, as the music ended, she clapped for herself. Or, more likely, just clapped because it was over, and that's what you do in the bleachers when the music stops. I didn't realize what socialization she's getting going to these games. By now, she probably understands football as well as I do. If someone has the ball, and you don't want him to have the ball, you chase him down and do something about it. Why yes. I think she's a football expert!

"The Dangerous Book for Boys" -- Who needs a book?

In the past two months, Gary has:

poured petroleum distillate lubricant all over himself and Sage(poison),

taken a hack saw to Samuel’s big inflatable ride-in ball,

sprinkled ant killer all over the sidewalk, himself and Sage(poison),

carved two holes in the kitchen wall with a screwdriver,

hammered blue pock marks over a large section of our recently refinished kitchen table with an ink pen,

tagged the lawnmower, Phillip, the garden shed, and the patio with pink paint(as you know),

was caught mid-swing on the roof of Chad's pick-up with hammer,

poured gasoline all over the garden shed,

poured gasoline all over the shop,

built a 10" fire ring out of gravel, filled it with sticks and talked Grandpa out of a lighter(Grandpa thought it didn't work. But it did.),

Sprayed down my bathroom with hairspray,

sprayed 40% deet Off (poison) all over the inside of the cab of Uncle Paul's pick-up, which bubbled the leather and stained the instrument pannel,

and yesterday, he threw this 1/8th of an inch thick, flat, yet sharp-edged end of a trampoline spring...

...through this. Samuel's hand.

Ow. This, at least, was an accident.

It seems every day we're looking at our home with new eyes, as "baby-proof" is not "Gary-proof." In his hands, everyday items become instruments of destruction, and things that are already instruments of destruction, are never out of reach of a 3-year-old on a mission. Constant supervision is the only thing that helps, but he made his chocolate mess today in under five minutes. After these incidents, Gary often says, "I'm sorry. I won't do it again." And he doesn't. He thinks of something new. I guess I need to learn to think like a 3-year-old and think of them first!

"All's fair..."

In our house, chocolate is for girls...

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...unless, of course, you're in need of a little war paint.