We're not an especially religious family, at least not consistently. Michelle and I both grew up Roman Catholic and have gone back and forth in our faith. We are currently in an "away" swing. This has affected the kids as well. A few weeks ago, Andrew (8) asked me to stop saying his evening prayers, a ritual we've performed his entire life, since he decided he doesn't believe in God. Fine, his choice.

Then, last week, Andrew informed us that he has chosen a new religion, one based on Egyptian mythology. In particular he is drawn to Anubis, the dog-like funeral deity. I'm not sure if this is a result of the research he did into ancient Egypt last year or his fascination (like many eight year-old boys) in Yu-Gi-Oh, but it was certainly a surprise.

I guess I'm pleased he's making his own choices. This one has been harmless so far, i.e. he hasn't tried to embalm Michael (5) or made ritual sacrifice, so I'll let it go. If a temple starts going up in the back yard or he starts cutting strips of muslin, I'll have to step in. Funny, none of the parenting books I've read talked about this contingency.

This morning, I left the house carrying a big sack of clothes slung over my shoulder. Michael (8) looked up at me and said, "Daddy, you look like Santa Claus."

In fact, little kid, I look exactly like your Santa Claus...

I brought the project for Andrew's (8) Cub Scout pack meeting this evening. The project was a leather wallet with the Cub Scout logo on it; they come pre-cut pieces of leather with a big needle and some lacing. I admit the project was a bit complex, but I thought the boys would like the project. Besides, I photocopied the instructions for everyone.

No one read the instructions.

The boys immediately dumped everything on the tables and started working. Worse, the parents who were helping didn't read the instructions either. They started totally screwing up everything. As I raced around from table to table trying to save the projects, I found a few allies who had exercised their ability to read English. We feverishly got people off on the right track.

As designed, no one finished the project during our meeting, so they'll have to finish them at home. If they read the instructions, finishing a nice project will be straightforward. If not, it will be hellish hours of incompetence and eternal scorn from disillusioned sons.

Just stop running for thirty seconds, read the instructions, and know what you should do next. How hard is that?

(As a funny aside, the dads mostly thought this was a very cool project. "Wow, this is something he'll keep forever. If I had done this as a kid, I'd probably still have it." said one happy father. However, the moms thought it was horrible, "That's hideous. Please tell the boys that these make great Christmas presents for grandfathers..." commented one mother. The Mars/Venus split extends to Cub Scout wallets too, I guess.)

Andrew (8) has brought a game home from school. You try to get someone else to say "What?" then you say "You're stuck with it." Stupid third grade stuff, but we're all doing it now.

Usually, the strategy is to catch someone off-guard and call their name; unaware victims will just reply "What?" However, other strategies like mumbling, speaking in other languages (Andrew likes Huttese from Star Wars), and saying something non-sensical seem to work well too.

Michelle, not surprisingly, is the most devious and clever at this. Michael (5) doesn't quite get the rules and will just blurt out "you're stuck with it" and seemingly random occasions and then laugh and gloat (usually doing a little victory dance as well). We're all a little more cautious now, usually replying "Yes?" when our names are called.

In the JV version we play, the word "what" has to be said alone. I've seen Andrew's classmates play the varsity version where any usage of "what" results in getting slammed.

I have no idea where this silly game came from or why it's bad to "be stuck with it", but there you go. I have visions of calling Andrew when he's forty and getting him "stuck with it." I can't wait.

I just remembered this story from my last trip. When I'm on the road, I regularly call the family to check in and say hello. Andrew (8) tells me about his day and asks how I'm doing usually, as you might expect. Michael (5) just wants to know what I've bought for him. He's becoming more directive about what constitutes acceptable gifts and went as far as saying I wouldn't be allowed to re-enter the house without Lego Bionicles in hand this time.

What's more, he now wants to control what gifts Andrew gets too. On one call, I was talking to Michelle and heard the kids fighting in the background. When Michael came on, he was crying and upset.

Michael: "Andrew was being really mean to me. Throw away his gifts and just bring him rocks."

Yeah, I'll get right on that. Nothing I'm looking forward to more than carrying rocks in my suitcase. I'm sure there's some law about that too that would invite Customs to check my orifices out thoroughly.

Yesterday morning, I was lying in bed. I heard Michael (5) exclaim to Andrew (8): "Andrew! I just found the King of Boogies [boogers]"

By the time I got to the boys, the King was no where to be found, with no witnesses. I'm not looking forward to finding the King.

Overheard the other day:

Michael (5) to no one in particular: "Will someone please stab Andrew (8) to death?"

Ah, my sweet child.

(Actually, aside from his desire to slice up his brother, Michael has been extra lovey lately. This is nice for me, but has created a bit of a dry spell for Michael stories on the blog.)

Well, Andrew (8) broke his arm again. It's the same arm as last year, almost exactly a year later. Once again, he broke it on a play structure, this time at swim and tennis camp. He toughed it out mostly (pulling the tape off his arms to remove the IV was the worst part). Now he's in bed watching videos and eating Crunch bars.

This is becoming an annual start-of-school tradition. Not a good one.

As if the chair incident weren't enough:

"Michael (5), when someone pees on you, don't pee on them."

(From camp this week)

Q: What's more annoying than watching Jar Jar Binks in the Star Wars movies?

A: Listening to Andrew (8) run around doing Jar Jar impressions. (He's actually pretty good, but that just makes it worse.)

Kill me now.