Part of this is long-time reader, Sara’s, fault.  Really. It is. But mostly the fault is mine. Because I knew better.

Sara has three boys and said in a recent comment that she likes being their ‘princess.’  This made me stop, blink, and re-read. That was a completely foreign dynamic to our 3 boy household. Just to be sure, I ran the concept by the boys.

“So, boys. A mom I  know with three boys said she is ‘their princess.’ Do y’all ever think of me that way?”

Ethan–9yr rolled his eyes but didn’t have a verbal reaction. (smart kid.)

Seth-4yr laughed and said,”NO!” (candid kid)

And Caden-5yr snorted. (sound effects kid, also with great candor.)

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Just checking.”

I thought that was the end of it. But a few days later Seth-4yr realized there might be something to be gained from this. He mighta thought I was petitioning them for princess status, although I definitely was not. Out of the blue he said, “My princess would feed me doughnuts.”

What. A. Stinker.

“Oh. She sounds real cool. Where is she?”

He sighed. Then said, “Just joking.”

But he wasn’t. Which made it so much funnier.  I actually DO feed him doughnuts occasionally, but not if it’s a prove-your-worthiness-and-royalty-woman kinda challenge. Then? Then you get an Eggo, dude.

This afternoon my mom found a piece of paper on the kitchen counter. After careful handwriting analysis, she decided it was the handiwork of Caden-5yr.

We discussed briefly why Caden-5yr was writing the word (in cursive) “CRACK” and how he knew the spelling. I asked for an explanation. “Oh! We were counting the cracks. And Ethan-9yr told me how to spell it.”

“What? You were counting… what?”

“You know, Mom. The cracks in the house.”

This wouldn’t have bugged me a few days ago. But as shown in the previous post, I have spent a whole lotta hours on fixing the cracks in the walls of this house. But.  Apparently the boys saw a need, and formed a Volunteer Quality Assurance Team at dawn in order to survey my work  – and that piece of paper represents their findings.

Cracks: 235.

That’s a bad report.

Or maybe it means Cracks, 2 in this wall over here, 3 over there, and 2+3=5.  I don’t know. I didn’t ask.

I DID ask what the next piece of paper represented. A pencil? A rocket ship?

“No, Mom. That’s a house. OUR house.”

“The house with all the cracks? The crackhouse?”

“Yeah. That’s what it is.”

Right. I see that now.

This crackhouse needs a princess toting some spackle and a dozen Krispy Kremes, asap.