The Sad Story of Duck's Demise

I'm going to tell this story to you just the way I heard it. Every word is true.

[Scene]
A small six-year-old boy sits on a stool gazing out the windows of the sliding patio door. His mother enters the room for some purpose other than conversation, but without moving a muscle or shifting his gaze, the boy begins to speak.

Boy (somberly): One of my "puffets" died today.

Mother: Really? I'm so sorry to hear that. Which one?

Boy: Duck.

Mother: What happened?

Boy (now turning to face his mother, but still somber): Well...First, he had to suffer. {dramatic sigh} Then, he fell off a rock cliff. {shakes head} And, then, the earthquake got him.

Mother (amused and horrified all at once): Oh no! That sounds awful! What kind of suffering did he have to do?

Boy (earnestly and without missing a beat): He had to travel through a dark, dusty cavern.

Mother: Wow! That is some intense suffering.

Boy: Yeah. He had a dust allergy. So he started sneezing and fell off the cliff because he couldn't see where he was going.

Mother: And, did he die when he fell off the cliff?

Boy: Oh, no. His friends, Rabbit and Panda, who had been smart enough to go over the cavern rather than through it, rescued him when he fell off the cliff and took him to the hospital.

Mother: Oh, so he died at the hospital.

Boy: Yes. The earthquake hit just as the "ambleeince" pulled up to the hospital, and it fell right on top of Duck, and he died.

Mother: Goodness. How did Rabbit and Panda escape?

Boy: They had gotten out of the "ambleeince" and gone inside to wait for Duck. But, of course, Duck died. I buried him.

Mother: Where did you bury him?

Boy: In my wallet. In the living room.

Boy (glancing back out the window): Look at that bee. Do you know what kind it is?

Awaysick

away•sick

adjective

experiencing a deep longing to go away after a period of being in one place; the opposite of homesick: 
The boy began planning road trips, claiming to be awaysick.

Last week, Weston was studying native tribes around the world during his History class. It was a topic that captured his attention and made him want to learn more. So, he checked out some books from the library, and every day he would report on the interesting things he was learning, half-fascinated, half-horrified: Mom, listen to this: this tribe would skin their enemies and wear the skins as a covering for their own bodies. 

He was also eager to know where the tribes had been located and curious about any remnants left behind that visitors might be able to see. Mom, how long do you think it would take to drive to Ohio? Do you think we could go for a weekend, so we can see this burial ground shaped like a snake? Could we try to plan a trip to South America, sometime after football season, so we can visit these particular sites?

His enthusiasm was contagious, and one day I told him that I really liked all the road trips he was planning to go along with his History lessons. His response stopped me in my tracks: I'm just really awaysick. You know, the opposite of homesick. 

This boy, who has so often struggled to put words together in coherent ways, managed to wordsmith a word that expressed the very depth of his heart...and mine. 

We stared at each other for a moment with tears brimming in our eyes and then went about our day, because there was nothing else to do. But, that word keeps echoing in my heart. I think it's the truest word I have ever heard. 

I'm not going to lie, our adjustment back to "normal" life has been difficult for me. Waking up in the same house and bed day after day and going through the same routines wears on me. During our travels, the longest we ever stayed in one place was one month. We were always encountering new things and situations, and even laundry stayed just challenging enough to be interesting. I admit, I feel ready to move on, even though I know this is a season for being rooted. I know people who really love to be home and only want to go on the occasional vacation. I think that's awesome. But, for me, the awaysickness is real. 

My question for those of you who don't revel in the routines of life and who may have similar nomadic tendencies is this:  What do you do to combat the mundanity and soothe the awaysickness when leaving isn't an option? I am eager to learn your secrets and will take your suggestions to heart. 

Independence Day

We were among the last Americans to celebrate the 4th of July, but, boy, did we have a good time! The Westin resort where we're staying really did it up right, and we had such a fantastic day! It all started with the pool being completely filled up with red, white, and blue beach balls for the kids to play with and take home. We also received patriotic leis and frisbees and little flags to get us in the spirit.

There was supposed to be a flower drop in the middle of the morning, but there were technical difficulties and the flowers didn't actually drop. However, the nets were later ripped open and orchids were distributed throughout the crowd. There were also several fun lawn games, which the boys thoroughly enjoyed playing.

Around noon, the boys participated in watermelon eating contests. Weston was the clear winner of the 6-12 division, but Max also won a prize. And, everyone in the 5-year-old division got a prize for participating.

Later, Clay participated in the hula hoop contest. When I was walking him over to it, he asked what you were supposed to do in a hula hoop contest. I told him he just needed to keep the hula hoop up around his waist. "That's easy!" he said. "Oh," I said, "Are you pretty good at keeping it spinning and not letting it fall to the ground?" "Well," he replied, "That part is hard."

After a lunch of footlong hot dogs, the older boys got in on the pie eating contest, which Weston saw as personal challenge, possibly the event his whole life has been building up to. He took it seriously and came out with one of the top prizes. We laughed and cheered and had a wonderful time.

And, then, we had shave ice. Because, that's what all the prizes had been throughout the day. And, because it was the 4th of July. And, what's an American celebration without a fair amount of gluttony thrown in?!

Before leaving the pool deck, we played three games of BINGO, but, though we were often this close, none of us managed to raise the victory cry. But, by then, we were all in a sugar coma, so the disappointment rolled right off our backs. Besides, we had a table at a Mexican food restaurant on the beach with our name on it, and chips and salsa can cure a whole lot of hurts.

After dinner, we walked down the beach to catch the spectacular fireworks, which were launched from a barge in the ocean. There were many that were quite unique, and, as always, we were dazzled by all of them!

Independence Day is one of our family's very favorite holidays, and this one was particularly fun, even though we definitely missed having Ruth with us. We may just have to give it another shot next year so she can join us! ;)

Having a ball on the 4th of July

Lawn games

Showered with flowers

Watermelon Eating Contest

Hula Hoop Contest

Pie Eating Contest

Shave Ice

Some beach time before the fireworks

Happy Independence Day!

Exploring Kenmore

Our day was spent exploring our surroundings, and we were very pleased with what we found. Autumn is beginning to descend on the area, coloring the landscape and providing a feast for the eyes. We saw the foliage reflected in Loch Tay and enjoyed spending time at the playground, which is surrounded by beautiful hills and forests. In the village, we came across many interesting sights, including The Kenmore Hotel, which was founded in 1572 and claims to be the oldest hotel in Scotland. We also bought matches at the post office, because that is where one buys matches in this little town. Later, we discovered some awesome and unexplained ruins on the side of the road and then visited Castle Menzies, which is our favorite castle we have visited, so far. As the day wound down, we made the short drive back home, so Weston could watch his beloved Longhorns beat the Sooners. After dinner, we roasted marshmallows over the fire, fulfilling a particular wish that Clay had. It was such a wonderful day!

Breathtaking Loch Tay

Fun at the Kenmore Playground

Around Kenmore

Castle Menzies

Yesterday, Clay said to me, "You know what I'm wishing for?"
To which I replied, "No, buddy, I don't."
He responded, "I'm wishing for marshmallows. Do you think it will come true?"
"Probably not," I said, knowing our options for that item were limited.
But Nana, the wish granter, found some marshmallows in a little store in the village
and presented them to Clay as we were leaving the park.
It was truly a wish come true for this happy little boy!

You know what's better than scowling?

From time to time, someone around here gets knotted up and a scowl appears on that person's face. The other day, Weston was the one bent out of shape, and Jeff asked him why he was scowling. From across the room, and completely out of the blue, Clay responded, "Scallops are better than scowling!" The entire household erupted in laughter, including the scowler. Since then, any time someone puts on a grumpy face, someone else will say, "You know what's better than scowling?" It is then very, very difficult for the grump to maintain his or her grumpiness. If you don't believe me, give it a try the next time you're around someone who can't seem to put on a happy face.

He may look like a Mexican, but he's all Texan

The boys and I have been diving into Texas history recently, which is always a favorite subject around here. We have been reading about The Alamo and the heroes who defended it, and we've been talking about Texas' Independence, which seems so appropriate as we approach Texas Independence Day on Monday. We are also planning a field trip to the Alamo for next weekend. All of us are caught up in the excitement of the courage and bravery and honor of a people seeking liberty, but perhaps none of us more than Clay.

This morning, after breakfast, he disappeared into his room for a while. When he reappeared, he had his sombrero secured to his pants with a belt or two and declared, "I'm a Mexican." I quickly retorted, "Mind if we call you Santa Anna?" He did not miss a beat, but looked me right in the eye and said, "No! I'm on the Texans team!" Don't tell me his little ears aren't listening!

Victory or Death!

Empty the bucket

We walked down the beach, his three steps to my one. I offered to carry the blue bucket to collect our treasures, but he insisted he carry it himself.  We had already taken a few steps, when he ran back for the red plastic shovel, which was almost the same size as him. I tried to tell him he didn't need it, but, again, he insisted. I intentionally kept my pace slow to accommodate my short-legged friend, and so that I could look for interesting shells and sea glass. I had already placed a few finds in the bucket but soon noticed my partner falling further and further behind. He had stopped to heap a shovelful of sand into the bucket, completely covering the things I had placed inside. I redirected his steps and reminded him that our bucket was for treasures and not for sand. A few more steps found us repeating this exercise. After his third stop, with the bucket nearly full of sand and no room left for treasures, this sweet little boy began to list to one side, his movements propelling him more sideways than forward, and at a snail's pace. He didn't ask for help, but I knew we would make no more progress if things remained as they were. So, I asked him, "Is your bucket heavy?" "Yes," came the quick reply. "Well, why don't you empty it." This thought had clearly not occurred to him, but he was willing to take my advice. With his burden lifted, he picked up his pace and began helping me search for lightweight prizes with which to fill the bucket. And, from that point on, he seemed to enjoy the trek down the beach a little more.

I was struck by the similarity to my own life. I insist on doing everything myself, on carrying burdens that I have no business carrying. Burdens that weigh me down, slow my pace and take the place of the beauty life could contain. And, sometimes, it's just time to empty the bucket.

It's just a season

Tonight, when Weston came out of church, he was talking about one of his buddies there who plays football for Marble Falls, "just like me, but for the varsity." (In this case "varsity" refers to an older team of pre-junior high aged kids. Weston's age group is called "Freshmen," so you can get an idea of what he meant.)  In the course of the story about his friend, Weston told me he "just couldn't wait for that level that's right after that, what do you call it?"

"Junior High?" I answered, unsure of exactly what he meant.

"Yes. That's it. I'm excited about that."

So, then I found myself right smack in the middle of a conversation I have known was coming, and I put on my kid gloves in order to broach the subject as gently as possible. I explained to him that if we continued to homeschool ("which we might not do") there weren't really too many opportunities to play football after about sixth grade, but, for sure, once he got into high school. I told him that if football was important to him that we should definitely talk about this some more and explore our options; that Dad and I weren't saying he had to do homeschool indefinitely, if he wasn't happy with it or if he wanted to play sports; that other sports were a bit easier for homeschoolers to play longer term, etc.

He let me go on for a little while before he stopped me and said, "Well, if I had to choose between football and homeschool, I'd definitely choose homeschool." I could not have been more shocked if he had sprouted a horn on his head and wings on his back, or made his next statement: "I mean, football is just a season, but homeschool is forever."

I just about fell over from the eloquence and thoughtfulness of this statement, coming from my all-ball, sports-loving boy, who I will admit sometimes seems oblivious to a deeper meaning to life than who won the game. They were words this weary homeschool mama needed at the end of a hard day at the schoolhouse.

Then, he followed that statement up with another: "Besides, I'd like to give soccer a try."

Why are girls mean? And other hard questions.

Sweet Ruth,

Today you cried through Math class. And, finally, I figured out that it had to be more than not understanding scientific notation or trying to figure out how to solve for x, so I asked what was really going on. You then preceded to break my heart in a way I didn't think was possible now that my own pre-teen days are over.

"Why are girls mean?" you asked.

And, this is the part that broke my heart because I couldn't give an answer or "fix" the problem: "I don't know, " I replied, "but I know they are."

"Well, why all of a sudden do boys and girls seem to have to be totally separate? Why is it not cool to hang out with boys I've been friends with forever?"

Again, "I don't know."

Sweet girl, I wish with all my heart that I could hide you and protect you from all the hurts, both real and imagined, self-inflicted and outwardly imposed, that are likely to afflict you in the next few years. I remember all too well the real pain and heartbreak of mean girls and awkward relationships with boys. It's a very hard time of life. Maybe the hardest.

This is a time when boys and girls are trying to become men and women. You are all trying on different personalities and ideas to see what you like, to see what fits, and to determine which ones you want to take on for good. And, you're trying to do that through the filter of fluctuating hormones and a host of insecurities. Like I said, it's extremely difficult.

I wish I had clear, easy answers for you, but I don't. What I can promise you is that I'm here. And, I love you. And, more than likely, you will survive this time in your life and be better for it. You just keep being amazing, perfect you (as if you could do otherwise)!

All my love,
Mom

(Almost) Perfectly Clean

In the Watts' home, everyone is expected to contribute. We have gone through several methods of chore distribution, including this one from 2012. The thing that actually seems to work best for us is to switch things up every so often, so that the chore schedule always kind of feels fresh. We've been through several methods since that post in 2012. The chores themselves don't really change too much, but the way in which they are displayed and distributed do, and it really seems to make all the difference in the level of enthusiasm the kids have for the chores. For 2014, we have adopted another new method, which I'll just go ahead and count as my Pin of the Week, since it's not likely anything more creative is going to happen around here this week. Assigning specific chores on specific days really gives the kids more focus and keeps them from being overwhelmed, and thus, the chores get done in a more timely manner, with less whining. (Or maybe that's just due to it being a new system, and everyone loves a new system at first.) Perhaps you all already knew and have implemented that in your homes, but I'm a little slow, so I'm just now having that lightbulb moment.

Anyway, what I really want to tell you is this: One of Weston's chores for this week is to clean the kitchen counters. He set to work on it yesterday and very quickly announced that he was all done. One peek at the kitchen told me the counters definitely weren't clean, so I asked him if he really thought it was clean and what he saw when he looked at it. He proceeded to tell me that, to him, it looked "perfectly clean." This seemed like a teachable moment, so I put my arm around his shoulders and began to walk around the kitchen pointing to obvious milk spots and sticky areas and crumbs. Each time, I would point and ask, "Does this look perfectly clean?" To which, he always replied, "No." There were quite a few of these areas, and by the time we were done, he was in tears. Finally, through sobs, he declared, "But you only picked out the dirty spots! The rest is perfectly clean!" 

A couple of things the classical model of education (which we employ in our homeschool) emphasizes are the over-learning of the grammar of any subject and the defining of terms to make communication more effective. Clearly, I need to be better at defining my terms, and Weston needs a bit more practice with the "grammar" of kitchen cleaning. Thankfully, we will both have plenty of opportunities over the next few years to improve in these respective areas. 

Potty nose

This morning, in the grocery store, I had to take Clay to the restroom. I don't need to tell you, I'm sure, that the facilities were not in pristine condition. When we got into the stall, Clay became very agitated, saying, "I don't like it, Mom; it's yucky." I agreed and encouraged him to take care of his business quickly. After a few beats, he started fervently rubbing his nose and telling me in a most concerned voice, "It's on my nose!" Of course, I wanted to know what was on his nose, to which he replied, "The stinky!" And then, a question: "The stinky on your nose, Mom?" That kid. So stinkin' {wink, wink} cute!

It's Cursive to me

I speak to my children, asking them to do this or that, and they nod their heads and say "Yes, ma'am," as if they understand the words coming out of my mouth. But, then, there is absolutely no follow-through (without further prodding) and seemingly no memory of my ever have spoken. This happened last night while we were getting ready for dinner, and I turned to Jeff and announced, "It's as if they almost understand English." Weston immediately retorted, "Well, maybe you're just speaking in cursive!"

Customer Non-Service

Jeff and I have long been frustrated with our bank. But, the thought of moving the six accounts we hold there just seems too daunting a task, and it never seems to make it even to the top ten on the priority list.  But, if they keep up their amazing customer non-service, we just might have to get serious about making a change.

For the last couple of weeks, we have not been able to log on to online banking from our laptops. That is inconvenient, but we have just been logging on on our phones instead. But, today, I received a message when I tried to log in on my phone that my account had been locked. Which meant I had no choice but to call the ridiculously unhelpful customer service department. Someone answered, required me to answer a million questions to verify my identity, listened to my problem, put me on hold and then, without further explanation, told me she would have to pass me along to someone else. Fine. Next person answers, asks me the same million questions and then asks me what the problem is. I explain that I cannot log on to my online account, and she tells me I need to use a different browser. Well, I don't have another browser on my laptop, but I tell her I can try on a another machine. No luck with that either. So, she then proceeds to scoff at the fact that I don't have any other computers or browsers to try and tells me that, in that case, there is nothing she can do. She simply cannot help me and apparently can't point me to anyone who can. Then the following conversation took place:

"So, I can't use online banking at all?" I ask.

"Well, can't you just log on from your phone?" she replies.

"I don't know. I wasn't able to log on from my phone earlier, which is why I called you."

"You mean you haven't tried to log on from your phone since you talked to the other rep, because I see here that that person unlocked your account?"

"Um, no. I have been on the phone the entire time, waiting to talk to someone who can help me."

"Oh. You mean, you are using that same phone?!"

"Well, yes. It's the only phone I have. But I can try it when we hang up, and call you back if it doesn't work."

"Ok. That sounds good. Is there anything else I can assist you with today?"

[Words screamed spoken only in my head while banging it against a wall] "Are you kidding me?! You haven't assisted me with anything yet!!!"

Ugh! Anybody out there have a bank they love, with excellent (or at least not lousy) customer service?

Productive

Do you have any idea what a mother of four young children can accomplish when the toddler takes an extra-long nap and Daddy offers to take all the big kids to their various afternoon/evening activities?! Here are some of the things that might be possible:

• Mom might be able to send some emails for work, without a hundred interruptions.
• Mom might be able to have an important, somewhat lengthy phone conversation or two, without a hundred interruptions.
• Mom might be able to have a little snack, without a hundred questions about what she's doing and when she will share.
• Mom might be able to tackle some huge problem areas in her bedroom, where neglect has taken root and the piles have rendered certain pieces of furniture almost invisible.
• Mom might be able to repair her favorite giraffe, which has long lain in pieces, following some particularly intense roughhousing many months ago.

Conversely, soon after the toddler's nap ends, Mom might be able to have this text conversation with Dad:

M: Guess how productive I've been since nap time ended?

D: Mega

M: Actually "counter"

D: Well, that's what you get for being "re"

Family Talk

I was recently shopping and came across some Family Talk conversation starter cards on the super-clearance shelf. (It happened to be the Family Talk 2 set, but I wasn't picky). I picked them up on a whim, thinking it might be kind of fun sometime when there wasn't much to talk about at dinner. Well, it turns out it's the best $4 I've ever spent. The kids LOVE them! They want me to share our "table topic" before everyone can even get their little tukuses in a chair. And they get almost giddy looking forward to the next one. They were really bummed today at lunch that Jeff was going to miss it, since he had a meeting in Houston. I was touched by this and texted Jeff to let him know we were thinking about him. He immediately called and requested to be put on speaker phone, and then we all chimed in with our thoughts on space travel. Our family is close, and we always seem to have something to talk about, but I love these little cards and the fun, new element they've added to our mealtime conversations, whether we stay strictly on-topic, or whether we veer off in another direction. Some of them seem like they are more for older kids, but we haven't had any trouble making each topic work for our group. If you're looking for something to spark the conversation around your table or on an upcoming road trip, I highly recommend these. It would also be fun to do with extended family over the holidays.

True Story

It's 2:00 am. I am sound asleep and am hosting a fabulous birthday party for Katie's son out at our family's ranch in west Texas. We are just about to cut the cake, when, suddenly, a child is crying. Really, more like wailing. I look around at the other mothers but then realize that it is my child. He is crying loudly, but isn't getting closer like I would expect. I can't see him, but I know he's there, screaming hysterically just beyond my line of vision. And, now, everyone is leaving the party, because no one wants to listen to this kid going crazy in the dark. Well, the mostly dark. My eyes are open now, and I can see light slipping under the door to our bedroom. The clock tells me it's 2:00 am. But, the crying is real, so I get myself moving in the direction of the light. Every light (of which there are many) in the dining room and kitchen are ablaze. Max is sitting at the dining room table with a glass of milk, bawling his brains out. I am finally able to discern that he (thinks he) saw a spider in the kitchen while preparing his breakfast, which stopped him dead in his tracks. The spider blocks his path to my room, and he can't very well stay in the kitchen with the thing, so there is nothing left to do but sit at the table and blubber until help arrives.

"Max, look at the clock. What does it say?"

"Two," he proclaims, without realizing what that means.

"2:00 in the morning. Basically, the middle of the night. Not a good time for breakfast. Let's go back to bed."

With a new burst of crying vigor: "But my sheets are all wet, and I already took them to the laundry room!" (This seems ridiculously productive and responsible for a four-year-old at 2:00 in the morning)!

"It's o.k. I can get you some new sheets. Or better yet, how 'bout if you sleep in the sleeping bag tonight?!" (I did not suggest this because I'm one of those "fun moms," but rather because it was much easier to get a sleeping bag unrolled than to find and situate a set of sheets)!

He finds this more than acceptable, and after a quick trip to the bathroom, falls right to sleep, as if all the drama never even happened. He didn't really remember getting up to have breakfast at that crazy hour of the morning, but he did remember the spider (which I looked for and never found).

It's catching

Weston:  Was Grandpa strong?

Me:  He still is strong.

Weston:  What about his dad - was he strong?

Me:  I'm sure he was, since he was a rancher and did a lot of hard work on his ranch.

Weston:  Well, it's pretty catchy then.  He was strong, Grandpa is strong, Daddy is strong, and now I'm strong.

Dinner Conversation

Ruth: You know what sounds good to me? Wedge Salad.

Weston: Wedgie Salad?! Who would want to eat a wedgie salad?

Max: Actually, I am having a wedgie right now.

And that's dinner at our house, folks.

Wonderful Words of Weston

The other day, Max thought it would be funny to say "What?" or "Huh?" to everything we said. He was really cracking himself up, when Weston commented, "We are going to have to start calling you 'Old Weston,'" referring to the time before his surgery when he couldn't hear.

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We spent the weekend with my parents, and on Saturday night, my mom asked if the kids wanted to go to Sunday school in the morning. Weston quickly and emphatically answered, "That's fine, but I DO NOT want to be baptized!!" Having never even really talked to him about this topic and remembering that he had only seen a baptism while we were in Brazil, we were surprised that he had such a strong (negative) opinion. Since it came completely out of the blue, it caught us all off guard and touched our funny bones. Later, Ruth remembered that we had attended a special service with my parents almost a year ago, at a church they don't normally go to, where three people were baptized. This helped to clear up some of the story for us. I assumed his objection to being dunked was that he was being protective of his high-maintenance, tube-filled ears. But, it later came out that he did in fact want to be baptized "at some point--just not now and not at that church." Further probing revealed that the cause of his concern was that he "didn't want to be up in that window (baptistry)."

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Ruth slacked off on some of her math assignments last semester and has been making up for lost time this semester by doing her regular math lesson in the morning and a make-up lesson after her other school work is finished. For her, it hasn't been all that fun. However, for Weston, this seemed like the greatest injustice. He got all teary the other day, saying, "I wish I could have two math classes like Ruth!"

(And, guess what? We got out the math book and let that boy do another math lesson)!

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A conversation with Dad

Weston: I wish I could have a job like you.

Dad: Oh yeah? What kind of job would you like to have when you're my age?

Weston: Either a builder or a librarian.

Dad: Really? I didn't know you were interested in being a librarian. What do you like about that job?

Weston: Well, I'd like to do that job because all the other ones [librarians] are grumpy.

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A story by Weston

A sock wanted to go to a show, and he was trying to find someone to go with him. He asked a pair of underwear, and the underwear said, "I'd really like to go, but I'm too busy keeping someone's private parts warm." So, the sock asked a jacket...

[here Max interjects, "Jacket. That's a really nice name!" And the story goes no further because no one can catch their breath for laughing so hard--both at the story and at the commentary].

The Punching Game

[Just before lunch]

Weston (running in from outside and almost breathless): Max has a bloody nose.

Mom: Really?! What happened?

Weston: We were playing The Punching Game, and I punched him in the nose.

Mom: You punched your brother in the nose?! Please go wait for me on your bed.

[Mom exits the building to assess the situation. What she finds is one small boy, struggling to get off the trampoline and put his boots on, whose face, hands and jeans are smeared with bright red blood]

Mom: What happened Max?

Max: Weston punched me in the nose.

Mom: Were you playing The Punching Game?

Max: Yes.

Mom: If I were you, I wouldn't play that game anymore.

[Mom cleans up the little one and turns her attention to the big one]

Mom: Please tell me why you punched your brother in the nose.

Weston: We were playing The Punching Game. He punched me and then I decided to punch him back.

Mom: Didn't you think you might hurt him if you punched him in the nose?

Weston: Well, I didn't know I was going to punch him in the nose, because I wasn't looking.

Mom: So, you were just randomly punching with your eyes closed?

Weston: No, my eyes were open; I just had my head turned so I couldn't see where I was punching.

Mom: But are you supposed to be punching at all?

Weston: No.

[Mom administers justice and strictly forbids any future playing of "The Punching Game"]