Well, That's One Solution

My sister called a bit ago. She was planting daffodil bulbs alongside her driveway (using Bear’s drill to dig the holes – THAT will not be a wise choice when he finds out) and talking on the phone to me. Such an over-achiever. She was telling me about how their mailbox has been knocked down for about the 10th time since they moved in last year. Bear hollered for George and off they went down the driveway to fix it. When they came in there seemed to be some giggling and some whispering and when she asked what they had been up to, they both said “nothing” with a little too much practice behind it. When pressed, little 5 year old George said, “Daddy and I put boards with nails sticking up around the mailbox and hid them with leaves.” Julie said, as calmly as possible, “Why did you two do that?” George said, “So that when the people try to knock our mailbox down again they will get a flat tire!” and laughed and laughed. Julie glared at Bear and George said, “Daddy wants them to get a flat tire so he can SMACK them!” Julie gasped, “WHAT?” Bear looked all stern at George, knowing he had just shared a bit too much with Mom, and George, knowing he had said something wrong tried to save himself and said, “He didn’t say he’d ‘smack the CRAP’ out of them, Mom, he’d just said he'd smack ‘em!”

I told her she had officially achieved White Trash status as far as I was concerned.