Sorry for the drought of information on the website of late. I’d say I’ll do better, and I really think I will, but I hope you’ll understand that given our current life pace, I am reticent to commit anything except those things that might otherwise get me fired, cause me to fall out of Kat’s good graces, or incur the wrath of Providence. Unfortunately, a lot has been going on, and there’s a lot that I think many of you might find entertaining. That said, due to the shortage lately, I will do a two-fer today.
The first is relative to our laundry system at the Reynolds. At the ripe old age of 6 our kids are given the character-building opportunity to take charge of their own laundry. Yes, their whites aren’t necessarily white for very long, and stains tend to be stains forever, but they’re clean, that’s the bar and we’re prepared to live with it. We don’t tell them that most people would consider them way too young to do their own laundry, and so they just accept it as the way things are and surprisingly there is very infrequent complaining about it. That said, it doesn’t mean they necessarily enjoy doing laundry, or that they won’t put it off as long as absolutely possible, as is the case with all chores and most kids. Dak in particular seems to feel the deepest disdain for laundry duty, perhaps that goes for chores in general, but with laundry it is particularly noticeable in several ways. First, the sheer weight of his laundry basket is your initial clue. I don’t know if a physicist could figure out a way to pack more clothes in Dak’s dirty clothes bin; I swear that thing is so tightly stuffed you could use it as a foundation block of a multi story home with no concerns. Another indicator that Dak’s laundry day is looming in the not too distant future is by simply observing his attire. Dak is no prima donna, so his bar for acceptable public presentation of himself is slightly lower than the average bear, but when clean clothes are running low, this guy has seriously no boundaries, so long as it will buy him one more day away from the laundry room.
Well, I think he reached an all-time low a few weeks ago, when Kat was looking around for Fife’s little sweat pants. Yes, Fife, our 10 month old baby. Try as she could, they were nowhere to be found. Granted, finding anything in a house of 11 is not easy, but Kat runs a pretty tight ship so most things eventually turn up if you look hard enough. You can imagine our surprise the next morning when Dak wandered up from bed, bleary eyed and the standard bed head he brings to breakfast, and to top it all off, he was wearing Fife’s sweat pants as pajama shorts. How is it possible, you might ask, that our 9 year old boy is wearing a 10 month old’s pants? Well, Dak is a pretty small dude, and I don’t know that you could find an ounce of fat on his little body, but c’mon, we are definitely into the realm of the ridiculous. Honestly, I don’t know what to tell you, other than I guess you have a sense about how Dak feels about laundry. So, just know that next time you see him, if his clothes don’t fit just right, or if he’s wearing his church slacks with mismatched socks and and old beat up tee shirt, you’ll know the story behind the story, and you might even show him a little pity, because you know – like he knows – that he can’t hold out much longer.
The other quick one is about Rook. Rook has serious personality, and I may have already mentioned his confidence. He’s always had it somehow, really can’t saywhy. For example, when he was only two we took all the kids to watch a Dak’s baseball game. Of course we were fashionably late, and upon arrival found the small bleachers full. We spread out a blanket on the grass to watch the game, but it was clear the Rook was not down with sitting on the ground. So, he brazenly walked up to the bleachers, chose the person that looked most likely to make a comfortable chair – in this case an older bearded Santa looking fellow – climbed up on his lap and watched the game from there, occasionally looking down his nose at we peasants seated on the ground.
Well, part of Rook’s innate confidence manifests itself in his astonishment at any suggestion that he may have done something wrong. And in extreme cases, where in fact he knows he did something wrong, he actually considers it more wrong for anybody to ‘tattle tell’ on him. Lately he has taken to preempting tattling with tattling for tattling. That is to say that if he believes somebody is going to tattle on him,he usually beats them to Kat or I and tells on them for their plan to tattle on him, fully expecting us to chastise the other child for tattling on him. When MaShay was here with the kids while we were out, she said she witnessed Rook actually tackle Tigue and bulldoze over her on the stairs to get to MaShay before Tigue had a chance to report on his misdeeds. Well, the other day it played out like this: Rook came barreling up the stairs, with Reese not far behind, yelling, “Mom, Reese is going to tattle tell on me!” When he eventually made it to Kat, he repeated that Reese is a tattle tell and is about to tattle on him. By now little Reese has also arrived with her patented offended face, expecting her case to be heard before judge Kat. So, Kat turned to Reese, “Why are you tattling on Rook, Reese?” To which Reese responded, “He punched me in the stomach!”. We let a lot of things go around here as kids just being kids, but all know that punching isn’t tolerated – I mean, we have to draw the line somewhere. Kat then turns to Rook, “Rook did you punch Reese?” That previously expression of righteous indignation on Rook’s face begins to give way to a little smirk that says he knows he’s caught, but he’s not even close to surrendering. “But Mom! . . . her breath stinks! She never brushes her teeth!” What a kid, he’s always good for a laugh.