Today ended the mysterious “BBB week” at the boys’ school. Mysterious because I have no idea what the first two Bs could stand for. The last one must be buddy – they’ve had secret pals that they’ve given gifts to all week. During lunch the cheerleaders were selling different gift items that kids could purchase for their secret pals, so on Tuesday I gave in to Wesley and sent $1 with him to get something for his secret buddy Frank.
I asked him at supper what he bought for Frank. He told me he got a yellow balloon…… one that said “Too Cute” on it.
And now for the “then” part of the story…. I was reading through some of my old posts, and decided that some of them were just too good to be left in the archives. The Wesley-stories in particular. Here’s one from February ’06:
When we were getting ready for the Valentine’s Banquet, the downstairs was freezing cold. There’s no heat in the kitchen (because once you start cooking, you really don’t need it) and the dining room was chilly too. We keep those registers turned off to save on energy when the downstairs isn’t being used. Then it always takes awhile (most of a day) to warm back up. So we did our usual rig-job to hurry the warming process.
Roger turned on the 2 gas ovens and the 6 burners on the stove (the griddle too, I think) and set fans up so that they would blow the warm air from the stove to the door and then out into the dining hall. It was a nice little system. It looked a little odd, but it got the job done without too much effort.
Well, Bill and I were working on food stuff, and Wesley came in and looked at the fan blowing by the stove for awhile. Then he asked Bill why there was a fan on. Bill told him, “Your daddy put that there to help get the kitchen warm.” Wesley thought about that a minute, then (knowing that fans are usually cooling agents) responded, “No. I said, why is there a FAN there?”
So we explained the process of the fan distributing warm air, and Bill said to Wesley, “You’re a smart boy.”
And Wesley, bless his heart, little Wesley who stumbles on his words once in a while, said this sentence that horrified his mother, “No, I’m a smart ass…a smart ASKer.”
He is a smart asker (and occasionally the other…) but for a moment there I was ready to ban all TV but Veggie-Tales and Baby Einstein for the rest of his life. Believe me, the completion of his real sentence filled me relief. That boy… =)