Out of Tune Karaoke and Grow Your Own Poop

(aka Scenes from Our Weekend).

Let me preface this.....

Boys.

Will gave Tate fake poop for his birthday, along with 4 Fun Dips, some deodorant and Chinese handcuffs.  

This is what happens when you let an 11-year-old boy shop for his brother.

Truth is, I think Tate liked Will's present best of all.  He's been dying for some deodorant and who doesn't love fake poop?

Turns out, it's poop that grows.  Really, what is there to say about this??

What starts out as a black, dense, styrofoam blob grows when you put it in water.

"And it's turning brown!!!" Excitement.  Picture two boys' heads hanging over the side of the sink, inspecting their spoils.  Lots of giggles.  "Ew, it's slimy."

Me:  "go hand it to Daddy!"  Not sure what happened next.  I like to instigate these things and then step away.  If the outcome is positive, I want them to get the credit.  If it's negative, they'll have no problem throwing me under the bus, and I don't mind a bit.  

I am determined to school my children in the fine art of practical jokes.  

In other news, the karaoke machine has smoke coming out of it.  Meems and her friend have treated us to lots of Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA," some Katy Perry (always appropriate for 8- and 9-year-old girls), and a little Ke$ha and Adele thrown in for good measure.  

I have a splitting headache that won't go away.  

It is joyful noise.  And yes, I could put the emphasis on "noise" but in this case, I think the "joyful" is much, much more relevant.