Samu's Pockets

Boys need pockets like girls need bags. Give a boy a pair of pants with a gazillion places to store things and life's good. He don't care that his crack is showing because his pants are all bogged down from all the shit he's carrying - he found a wing nut on the sidewalk and by God, he needs a place to put it away for later and it has to go in his pants.

Zuki will actually change pants if he discovers the ones he's wearing doesn't have any pockets although, he doesn't really put things in them - he just likes to have them. The other guy, Samu is another story.

He has this knack of finding coins on the floor and believe me, I don't think it's ever too soon to bring home some "grease." I tell him to look for dollar bills while he's at it. But he refuses - he doesn't like them because they don't make noise. Whatever.

He's picked up at least two cents everyday and last Sunday, he racked up eleven whole cents just walking to the park. If he hit that kind of luck everyday, that would amount to an annual income of over forty dollars a year. I'd say that's pretty good for a Pre-K student.

Everything he finds during the course of the day, I find either that night in the washing machine or in the morning when the clothes come out of the dryer. The other day I found a wad of Silly Putty stuck to the bottom of the washing machine. This morning it was a magnetic Bakugan ball brawling with my bra in the dryer. On any given day, I might find a key, plastic seafood shapes or Jesus on a stick because his arms got torn off by the Dyson.

The contents of Samu's pockets make doing the laundry a carnival of wonder for me. I can even say part of my occupation is money laundering although, I might want to be selective of which market I advertise that to.

Six Red Power Rangers

I'm afraid it was my bright idea to have four boys over for a movie playdate last Sunday. Unlike my husband, I survived with all my fingers intact and no new bruises although my ears are still ringing. What is it with boys and yelling louder than Billy Mays?

When I watch little girls play, I'm amazed how they understand hierarchy and fall right in.  Yes, at times I've seen some bitch slapping, backstabbing claws drawn cat fights but all in all, girls listen to the voice of reason. But in a pack of boys, everybody wants to be the "good guy" or the Red Power Ranger or wield the Blue Light Saber and nobody gives in, they just want to fight the bad guy!

Of course, my husband understood this better than I did and knew what to do to protect himself. He just stood in one spot, hunched over and took their blows made with tiny, bare fists. I, on the other hand,  would run from the potential of pain inflicting plastic. Naturally, their response was to strike - hard. The older kids whacked me in the knees as if they were Tonya Harding's boyfriend, while the two little brothers ran their Diego trikes over my foot.

"Excuse me, am I on holiday in Cambodia?" I'm thinking. Just in time, the pizza arrived. A minute later and I would have been drawn and quartered.

I did learn a couple of things in my ever-surveying mind. Kids love Papa John's pizza over authentic New York pizza for some reason. They prefer original Dorito's over any other flavor, with Cool Ranch coming in second and Capri Sun wins over Apple n' Eve, hands down. If you have at least one of these items stocked at home, you can host a party for six Red Power Rangers, too.