Well At Least There's Not Bullets In That Thing!

Raising two boys is never boring. In fact, it has become quite an adventure.

There was a time when I thought I couldn't do it. I understood nothing beyond the realms of skirts and bows. But like everyone advised; things would eventually kick in.

I'm no longer surprised when after I mop to find patches of muddy footprints running from the door to the kitchen.

The familiar clunking sound when I turn on the drier still sends me running to the laundry room. I quickly open the door in an effort to save a pet rock collection.

I've come accustomed to carrying Wet Ones everywhere. Despite the absence of jelly, marshmallow or glue; I've learned that boys are eternally sticky characters.

But the one thing I'm still trying to wrap my brain around is the AIM. I'm referring to that yellow stream that squirts out of my children but fails to accurately hit the bulls eye.

Try as they may in the last year they have taken out a toilet brush (5 points), a plunger (10 points), and a tissue box (20 points- extra points since this sits above the toilet).

In my dreams my children pee Scrubbing Bubbles. (Imagine never having to clean the bathroom again!)

This is the one area where leading by example is not going to work.

"Oh, Hubby? You're needed upstairs. It's time for target practice!"