Michael turned five today. It's trite but true: I don't know where the time went.

This morning at breakfast, I asked Andrew (8) if he remembered when Michael was born. He actually recounted a fair bit of detail of being at the hospital, the toys he tried to explain to Michael, and getting to hold Michael for the first time.

Michael: "I punched you right?"
Andrew: "No, you were asleep."
Michael: "I hated you holding me."

Some kids are just born mean.

The other night, I was reading to Michael (4). He knows his letters and can sound out words pretty well now, but he can be lazy about it. I pointed to a drawing of a rabbit in the book that had bunny spelled out next to it. I asked Michael to read the word.

Michael: "Rabbit"
Me: "No, Michael, sound it out. What's the first letter?"
Michael: "B"
Me: "Michael, what sound does b make?"
Michael: "Buh"
Me: "Good, now what's the word?"
Michael: "Brabbit."

Naturally.

As I mentioned in my last post, Andrew (8!) had his birthday party this afternoon with eight of his friends from school (all boys). It was mostly pretty harmless aside from the typical party favor fights (you know, those paper things you blow on that unroll and the roll back up? -- lots of poked eyes) and eight year-olds hyped up on sugar running around making up insane games.

However, the Mercer Slough Science Center and Interpretive Trail where we had the party was a mosquito infested hell pit. The boys and I went out on a hike with a naturalist to learn about bugs. We learned all about bugs and how much we hate them. We were getting eaten alive by mosquitos. The naturalist took three to the forehead like headshots right out of the gate. The organic, world safe, no dye, no pain, nice smelling bug spray Michelle gave us formed a thin and only partially succesful barrier against these aerial menaces. We beat a hasty retreat to get off the trail, harassed by enemy air superiority the whole way.

I guess having a party in a slough in mid-July was dumb. Duh.

(As an aside, the etiquette around RSVPs seems to be lost these days. If you're coming RSVP yes. If you RSVP yes, show up. If you're not coming, RSVP no. Ain't that hard.)

We often call Andrew (7), "Drew". It occured to me we could call Michael (4), "Kull". Somehow, it fits.

The boys have Star Wars on the brain. They just bought posters and bedsheets today. Andrew (7) is all about being a Jedi. Michael (4), of course, is all Dark Side/Sith. He wants nothing to do with that mamby pamby Obi-Wan. Power at all costs and cooler looking fighters to boot.

My bets are on the Dark Side around here. Obvi.

Michael (4) has been running around singing Sir Mix-a-Lot's "I Like Big Butts" (at least the first few lines). However, he's got the words a little wrong, "I like big butts that I cannot buy..."

Ask Michelle where he learned the words.

Michael (4) has something of an imagination, but it comes out in weird ways. Last night, he told us a story he made up. Apparently, cows drink Coke because humans take all the milk. The Coke makes them a little crazy, so the daddy cow kills the mommy cow and the big brother cow (the parallels were a little troublesome to Michelle and Andrew) by punching them in the spine. Then, the daddy cow and the little brother cow kill the pigs. And then they kill the other animals including the fox (not sure why it was important to call out the fox, but it was.)

We'll be cutting back on Coke consumption around the Chor household right away.

Michael (4) often likes his hair spiked up with gel; he thinks he looks especially dangerous this way (he does.) The other day, however, he tried to spike up his hair himself -- with chewing gum.

Michelle found him in the bathroom trying to get it out; naturally it was a mess. Fortunately, Michelle knows the secret Mommy tricks to getting it out (soynut butter) so no hair had to be cut.

I don't think he'll be doing that again any time soon.

Michael (4) has mysteriously become a sushi eating machine. While we've known he has always liked fish, especially salmon, we never gave him raw fish as a kid due to the bacterial risk. Then, one day recently, while I was enjoying my sushi at dinner, he reached across, grabbed a hamachi nigiri and chowed it right down. He loved it and proceeded to eat the rest of my sushi.

Now, when we go to sushi, we have to order him his own. He takes the fish off the rice, eats the rice first like a chipper consuming a log, and then feeds the fish into his mouth in the same fashion. It's like watching the Japanese kid who always wins the hot dog eating contest decimate a pile of hot dogs. It's really a site to behold.

Then, this evening, he asked what the bright orange tobiko (flying fish roe) was. Michelle told him it was "sprinkles" and offered him some. He put a little in his mouth and realized he'd been tricked, "These aren't sprinkles." "Well," I replied, "they're fish sprinkles. Try biting them." He did, smiled, and asked for more. Strange kid.

For the record, he doesn't like wasabi. At all.

As you may have realized from the previous posts, Michael (4) is not always the most generous kid. So, it was somewhat of a surprise today when he was readily bringing Easter candy to me this morning after the kids opened their Easter eggs. I then noticed he was going back to Andrew's (7) basket to get more candy to share with me.

Michael: [big smile] "I'm Andrew's helper."

He's all heart.