knock, knock...

Who's there?


My butt.


My butt who?


My butt that farted.

L's been huge into knock, knock jokes lately. He tries to add in potty humor when he thinks I'm not listening, because normally that kind of talk gets them sent to the porcelain throne where they can yell poop and pee-pee and private part names all they want. Boys come pre-wired for grody. Girls are gross, too, of course. M gives her few potty cents in here and there. But girl potty talk is not like boy potty talk. You know what I'm saying? And it doesn't change either. Because Bruce's brothers were here just recently, and... well, let's just say it doesn't change. I know I never had those kinds of conversations with my sisters. But unfortunately those boys are too big for me to send to the bathroom with their potty talk.

Speaking of "knock, knock, who's there?" if you are still reading this blog you deserve some kind of stamina medal for how much boring nothingness you can stand. I have a few excuses, though. One of them is the fact that I was watching 7 kids under the age of 8 for a few weeks (had my three nephews staying with us who are really amazing, well-behaved babes but I wanted to sleep when everyone else went to bed at the end of the day). One of them is the fact that the rest of the On family came into town to spend some quality time in hot-as-heck Houston (Kauti, I still think you and Josh could have stayed one more day!!). And one of them is the fact that I have been sporting a back injury, busy learning choreography for new classes, and last but not least, being slammed down by strep throat the past few days - all around and about the same time. (For the record, those last three things DO NOT GO TOGETHER.)

So anyway, here we are and whatdya know, we're mid-way through August already.

I was not good about taking pictures this whole time. Like I might not have lifted my camera at all. But luckily, Pam grabbed my camera a few times and there are some cuuuute shots that I will get around to uploading someday. But unfortunately, there were some things that never got captured on camera. Like getting to snuggle with 15-month-old Gavin before naptime. Or watching 4-year-old Mason's face when he got to pick out a treat at the YMCA snack bar. Or listening to the hilarious conversations between B and 6-year-old Ryan. Or drawing a picture for Ryan in Primary to remind him that he has 9 cousins and an Auntie Noelle that love him. Or having M run up to me after her cousin Lorelei arrived, "Mom! She's four and she's a girl like me!" (especially exciting after being surrounded by five boys for two weeks). Best of all, there was nary a fight between all ten cousins. It was miraculous. It was like they somehow knew they were family and that they were connected. Or maybe they were just trying to preserve Auntie Noelle's sanity.

But eventually everyone left and our house has felt sad and lonely. So sad and lonely, in fact, that B had the non-distracted stamina to throw an epic tantrum this evening before heading to the gym tonight. B. My eight-year-old. What the what?!? I'm going to chalk it up to sleep deprivation of the whole past month and the deflated feeling that comes when family leaves. I filmed the ludicrosity (not a word but should be) but my mother-in-law forbid (forbade?) me from posting it on the blog and mortifying him further. So I'll leave you instead with a sweeter scene from earlier in the day.

Untitled from noelle on on Vimeo.

For goodness' sake, man. Answer the poor girl. Do you wanna be the baby or not???