Adventures in Bennionland

Breakfast time is one of my favorite times of the day. Mostly because at that point I still think everything they do is in the cute category and not the annoying one. (That changes by 11:00am.)

The best part of breakfast is that, after a good night of sleep, the boys’ mouths are loosened and they let loose some funnies. Here are some from today:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walker (with his mouth full of Chex cereal): Mom, I love sssexx.
Me: Oh, you love CHex. (enunciating the ‘ch’)
Walker: No, I love sssseexxx. (enunciating the ’s’ as if it was ‘ch’)
Me: Yeah. Chex is really good. (enunciating the ‘ch’ again!!)
Walker: Yup. Sex is good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Will: I’m the protector of you Mom.
Me: Oh really. What do you protect me from?
Will: Everything. From mean dogs, from bad guys, from strong winds. Everything.
Me: Well thanks Will.
Will: And Walker protects Daddy. And Daddy protects me.
Me: Cool.
Will: And Mom?
Me: Yes?
Will: You protect the whole world.
Me: Wow. That’s a lot of people to protect.
Will: Yeah, but you can do it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While I’m walking around the kitchen Will comes and grabs hold of my legs.
Will: I’m a lock Mom. You cannot move.
Me: Oh wow. How am I supposed to make you breakfast.
Will: You cannot move.
Me: I guess I need to find the key.
Will: There is no key.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walker picked up some prospectus my that parents get from one of their investments. He read each page – telling the story of how Glendora was made. Which, in case you are wondering, was by lots of ants and a cat.

Last weekend, on the 11th, we put our family dog Mason to sleep. Mason joined our family in 1994 as a Christmas present meant mostly for Lyndsy & Neal. Mason was unlike any other dog we owned. For one, he lasted longer. I don’t mean this in a morbid way – but more simply. All our other dogs ran away. Literally.

More than that though, Mason became a real member of the family. In particular he was attached completely to Lyndsy. He dug a hole in the dirt under her window to sleep. He seemed to always know when she was out of town and when she was home. When she moved to college we all swore he needed large doses of Prozac.

Mason would scratch at the door with his paw in hopes to get us to open it and let him in for the night. He’d bounce a tennis ball on the trampoline, from underneath, with his nose. He seemed more cat than dog. Moody and personable. He was gentle and kind. And it was time for him to go. As sad as it has been – it was right and it was time.

That whole week proved to me that I am the least optimistic in our family. After explaining to Will & Walker about what was going to happen to Mason (in broad strokes), they immediately broke down. After a few moments of sobbing Will looked up and said, “Mom, we’ll see Mason again.”. “No sweetie, we won’t”, I replied. “Yes we will. He can bounce back down from Heaven to see us and then bounce back up again.” He turned to Walker, explained the situation, and within seconds they had wiped their tears and were back playing in the sandbox. When we came home from the vet, sans Mason, the boys tried desperately to buoy our spirits by saying Mason might be back anytime, just bouncing back down.

Yeah. I’m not buying that. (No offense boys…)

Eric also proved his optimism this past week with two words – Chicago Cubs. Because there is always next year.

Yeah, I’m not buying that.

So I find myself at the bottom of the optimistic ladder. See, for most of my days as a parent I’ve believed one thing – that at some point I’d have a good night’s sleep, in my bed. Maybe even alone.

Yeah, I’m not buying that.

Then again, every time the wind has blown this week I’ve looked over to see if it was Mason scratching at the door. Every single time.

Is he a member of KISS and I’ve missed it?