Stories About Me!

2 December 2005

  Today when I finished eating lunch, I noticed that when Mom finished feeding Peter his mush, she left the box of mush on the counter. I wondered what it tasted like, so I pushed a chair over from the kitchen table to investigate. First I poured some out. That was fun, so I turned over the entire box and shook it. I liked watching the little flakes fly out all over the counter and drift down to the floor. I tried to get it all out, I even tried to use Peter's spoon to scoop it all out, but I accidentally dropped the spoon down inside the box. 

But the white stuff on the counter didn't look like the mushy stuff in the bowl that Mom had been feeding to Peter. Then I remembered. She had mixed it with something. I couldn't remember what, but I saw a neat bottle of something by the sink. I got it and pushed down on the top and some clear stuff oozed out of it. Cool! I pumped out some more on top of the flaky stuff, and then tried to mix it together. It kind of smelled like Mom's hands after she washes them. 

Then I noticed that the top drawer was open just a little bit. That's the drawer where Mom keeps the spoons and forks and stuff. I noticed that some of the flaky stuff got in there, and I saw there were some little empty jars in there, too. I took out a few of the jars and tried to scoop some of the mushy stuff into them, and then I just pushed them around in the mush. I looked at some of the other things in the drawer for a while, but then I got tired and decided to go to my room to take a nap. 

When Mom saw what I did, her eyes got really big and she opened her mouth and stared for a minute. The she nodded her head "no" and sighed, "Josh? What am I going to do with you?" I just grinned at her.

   My parents call me "Mischief Boy". I'm not sure why. I'm just curious about everything, and I want to try everything. Life is so exciting I don't want to miss a single minute. 
   I love to watch Mom cook and I try to help her hold the beater, stir things, dip the bread for french toast, crack eggs, use the sharp knife to cut things, and pour the milk. For some reason Mom doesn't appreciate my help all the time. 
   I also love Daddy's tools. His tool box is one of my favorite things to play with. I like the hammer and screwdrivers but my favorite thing is the tape measure. I love to pull it out and then let go and watch it zip back into its box. One day I found a saw way back on a shelf in the playroom. I climbed up and got it, and accidentally hit my big brother in the back of his head with it. Mom and Dad were angry, but hey, now John has a cool scar, kind of like a bunch of triangles in a line.
   My big sister is an artist. What most people don't realize is that I'm an artist too. I like to draw as much as she does, but people don't appreciate my drawings as much. I wanted to draw a mural on the hallway wall, since it looked so boring, just some photos hanging so high I can't see them unless someone lifts me up. First I practiced on Mom and Dad's bedroom wall with a highlighter I found on Mom and Dad's dresser. I practiced a little more on the dining room wall with a pencil Hannah had left on the table. Then I tried to make my mural in the hall with a red pencil I found lying next to Daddy's scriptures. But Mom cleaned that mural off really fast. So next I found a pen Hannah wasn't using any more and I drew a picture all along the length of the hall. Now it looks great--until Mom decides to clean it off again. 
   My big brother John and I are great friends. He builds these great looking things out of Legos for me to kick and break, and then he runs screaming to his room, and when he calms down, he comes back and builds something else for me to break. It's great fun!
   I used to be the baby of the family. Then one day Mom showed up with a brand new baby. I like babies; I had one I had been playing with for a couple months, carrying it around with me, throwing it, feeding it. Babies are great! Except for this new one. Mom doesn't like me to get near it for some reason, unless she is right there with me. At first I just wanted to see the baby. How was I supposed to know the bassinette would fall over if I pulled on it too hard? Sometimes I don't like the baby much and then Mom gets mad at me when I kick or hit it. She got really mad at me the day the baby was sleeping in my old crib and I climbed in and hit it in the face a few times with a toy train. Even when I try to be nice to it Mom isn't happy. She doesn't even like me to give it things to play with. Why shouldn't it have play-dough? It's soft, isn't it? Sometimes I just can't win.
   Then there is bed time. Why is it that Moms and Dads expect their kids to go to bed just when the day is starting to get fun? They put pajamas on us, read stories to us, brush our teeth, give us drinks, listen to our prayers, and after all that fun, they expect us to just lie on our beds and go to sleep? I don't think so! That's just when the game begins. The game is to see how late I can stay awake. First I just wait until they turn off the light and walk out of the room, and then I climb out of bed and follow them out. They grab me and put me right back to bed and say goodnight. So then I might wait a few minutes so I catch them off guard, and then I walk out to the living room, very carefully. The moment they see me, I grin at them, then run towards my room, shrieking and laughing. Just before I get there, I make a detour, and either run into the office or into my parent's room, and try to hide in their bathroom before they catch me. Of course, they always do, and they put me back in bed. And I try it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Sometimes Mom and Dad forget how to play the game though, and Mom will sometimes hold my doorknob so I can't get out (They tried getting one of those childproof doorknobs, but I figured that out after about 30 seconds!). Dad will sometimes hold me captive on his lap while he reads some boring book until I'm so bored I fall asleep and then he puts me in my bed. But any way it goes, I almost always win. Even though "bed time" is at 8pm, I'm very rarely asleep by 9, sometimes I'm even awake at 10! And I never sleep late the next morning. There is just too much to do to spend much time sleeping. Why do Mom and Dad seem to need so much of it?
    So that's my life. Pretty neat, wouldn't you say? You don't think I should be called "Mischief Boy" do you? I didn't think so.