Calfgrit4 woke up at 5:30 a.m. (again) and was immediately ready to play. (Calfgrit7 was visiting my mom.) We told him he could play in his room, quietly.

“Oh God, please let him be satisfied for just half an hour so we can sleep a little longer.”

He’d play for five minutes and then come back to our room to tell us something. He’d go back to his room for another five minutes and then come back to tell us something. Nope, we weren’t going to be able to sleep in.

At one point he told us, “My head is cold.”

Cowgrit said sleepily, “Go put on your Santa hat.”

He turned around and headed back to his room, saying, “No, I’ll just put some underwear on my head.”

He did, and I regret not getting a picture of that.

Bullgrit

I took one of my favorite games — Blokus Classic — to my hometown during the Thanksgiving holiday. Calfgrit7 and I managed to make some time to play it together, but I couldn’t talk anyone else I asked into playing.

Then, at night I caught both boys playing on the floor with the board and all the pieces spread out. “No, no, no,” I almost screamed in horror.

“Honey,” Cowgrit said, “just let them play with it.”

“But, but, they’ll loose the pieces.”

“No they won’t. I’m watching them, and we’ll make sure to get everything back in the box.”

I was almost distressed, seeing my precious game (clearly labeled for “Ages 5 – adult”) being played with (as a toy) by a 7 year old and a 4 year old, in the middle of a cluttered floor. I wanted to immediately clean it all up and put it away. There are 84 very small pieces to Blokus, and loosing even one can completely throw off the play of the game.

But I was surrounded by family, in front of whom I didn’t want to seem like a ass of a father. So I let Cowgrit talk me down from my high-pitched whine.

The next night, when we were all back home, and our clothes and such were all put away, I checked my Blokus game box. I opened the game and started counting pieces. One was missing. Aaargh!

I called my mom to ask her to keep an eye out for the piece. So far, there’s been no sign of it.

I’m saddened. And it does no good to say to Cowgrit, “See, I knew they’d loose a piece!”

But do you see? I knew they’d loose a piece!

Bullgrit

In the spirit of my post back in June, Questions From a 3 Year Old, here are some questions Cowgrit has heard recently from our youngest boy (since he turned 4 in October):

We were dining at a local restaurant, and Calfgrit4 asked about the waitress: “Mommy, is she a stranger?”

“Yes,” Cowgrit answered.

“Then why does she bring us food?”

* * *

While sitting at an intersection in town: “Mommy, how do the red, yellow, and green lights work?”

* * *

“Mommy, what makes us have to go to the bathroom?”

Cowgrit explained the biology.

“Why?”

* * *

Sitting at the kitchen table during dinner: “Mommy, you don’t have a penis? Daddy has one, why don’t you?”

Cowgrit replied, “I am a girl, and girls don’t have one.”

Later, while getting ready for bed, he asked a follow up: “If you don’t have a penis, how do you go to the bathroom? Do you have a hole?”

Cowgrit: “Yes.”

Calfgrit4: “Well pull down your pants and show me.”

Cowgrit mentioned out how late it was getting, and he needed to hurry and brush his teeth before they ran out of time to read a book.

She advises: Long distraction speeches work best to make them forget a question.

* * *

Bullgrit

Continued from yesterday. Our guns for this day were: two 9mm semi-automatics, a .22 semi, a .22 revolver, a .357 revolver, a .38 revolver, and a 7.62mm SKS rifle. Since we couldn’t set up a proper target for tracking our shooting, there was no competition for this outing. We were just shooting for the fun of it.

We used proper safety — we all wore earplugs, the only loaded weapon was the one on the line, and those not shooting were behind the shooter. Since my 7-year old son was with us this time, I made sure he knew and understood all the rules we were following.

I grew up with guns around me. My dad owned a few guns, but they were usually just for owning and/or target shooting. They were always unloaded and put away up in a closet. My step-dad owned several guns mostly for hunting. Although they were usually stored in various closets, sometimes one was loaded (especially the one he took hunting daily).

My exposure to guns at an early age — being used to having them around, and occasionally actually shooting them on a range — gave me a healthy respect for the things. I didn’t have the urge to show them off to a friend or to sneak peeks at them when my parents weren’t around. All the kids in my family understood guns — their use and their danger. I believe this respect kept me and my siblings safe from accidental death that too many kids were and are vulnerable to.

I want to instill this understanding and respect in my boys. I don’t want them afraid of guns; I want them to respect them. I want my sons to understand what they are, know how they work, and understand that they are very dangerous. I don’t want them to be a forbidden secret that becomes a siren’s call to experiment with them without adult supervision.

If either of my boys are at a friend’s house and the friend says, “Want to see my dad’s gun?” At best, I want them to say, “No,” and then tell me. At worst, if they do look at the gun, I want them to know better than to play with it — to know it’s not a toy.

So I exposed Calfgrit7 to guns for the first time during this outing. He was interested and willing to learn. He watched the adults shoot some first, and then I took him to the firing line and helped him shoot for the first time.

I instructed him on how a gun works, how to hold it, and how to aim (and when, where, and why to point a gun). I stood behind him, with my arms around him helping him hold the gun. He shot several rounds from the .22 revolver. He handled the gun calmly and comfortably, describing the gun as “bouncy” (referring to the kick/recoil).

A few minutes later I let him take a shot with the .357. That sucker has a kick, and it’s really loud compared to a .22. He handled the gun and himself well enough, but he didn’t want to shoot it anymore.

During everyone else’s turn on the shooting line, Calfgrit7 spent more time playing and drawing in the dirt behind us, than watching our sport. I take that as a good thing — it shows that he’s not afraid of guns, and he doesn’t have a potentially dangerous fascination with them. Even though I don’t have any firearms out in our home (there’re stored away in the attic, without any ammunition) I want him aware and smart about guns.

It’s just like he can play in the kitchen while we cut with sharp knives, and cook with a hot stove. And like he can play in the front yard while cars may pass on the street. He’s not afraid of knives, stoves, or cars, but he understands their danger, and so he’s less likely to be harmed by them — because of someone else or through a dangerous curiosity about the “forbidden fruit.”

Bullgrit