Spring rapture and – weapons checks?

One of the boys took his bike and the other one took his Ripstik. The laws of human nature decree that you always want what you don’t have, so those two ruffians started out their time with a wild chase on the bike. The one whose bike it was NOT got it out of the van, hopped on, and took off. Never mind that he brought his own wheels (albeit small). Never mind that his little brother was tied up in knots. All the better, in his world. Makes him happy.

When Little Brother finally got possession of his ride, he was kept in a chronic state of panic by Big Brother, who demonstrated some lingering bitterness and made constant threatening motions with the slingshot that he’d slunk along in his back pocket.

Speaking of the slingshot…that’s been a big deal again lately. I now realize that I’ve got to ramp up my security measures significantly. I caught that one outside on Saturday with it. They were not in sight when I hollered out the window to get them to come in and work. He came around looking so sheepish I knew he’d been up to something. Sure enough – he’d been taking potshots at his brother with the slingshot. I guess I have to stop this crowd at the door and make them empty out every single pocket and orifice on their bodies, collect any and all weaponry, and put it under lock and key. If this doesn’t sound like a cartoon. You know, the one where they catch a crook and shake him upside down and all kinds of things, including a kitchen sink, fall out of his pockets? That’s exactly what it would look like if I instituted weapons checks.

I caught him later that day, slinking around the front porch on his stomach like a ninja, looking to nail his brother with a stone. Having apprehended him before he could plant a pebble in Kieran’s hide, I made him take my place in the flower bed and commence with the weeding. That should work some of the sin out of him! Ha ha.

Anyway. There’s fresh rhubarb pie waiting, and the boys want to listen to an Odyssey before they go to bed.

I’m gonna make ’em empty their pockets first.