Are we going to get grass?

"Mikoh, are we going to watch basketball? Are we going to watch a movie? Mikoh, what are we going to watch?"

I didn't really hear any answers from "Mikoh," but the conversation between my boys was intriguing. M was really too busy sucking on his right big toe to answer is older brother's queries, but he interjected an unintelligible response here and there. Ugh, he's really going to town on that toe!

"Mommy, I want to have jelly toast!"

"Creaze... . I want peanut butter and cruck. I want this! I want this!"

The boys are an infuriating delight, bringing joy and warmth to the soul, with minor and major irritations tagging along for the ride. One moment of tender sharing is followed by the next moment of screaming tugs of war over one of two identical cars. Happy swapping of books is disrupted by fierce squabbling over who is drinking whose cup of juice or milk.

The oddest for me is that when all the toys are scattered across the floor, interspersed with their pajamas and yesterday's outfits, they will not play with their toys to save their lives. Once they're picked up and put away, they can spend hours with a handful of cars, trucks and trains. They stop at invisible traffic lights ("Red means 'top. Green means go!). C asks M, "Are we going to get grass?" and they go to the "grass" station to fill up with fuel.

Oh, it's lunch time. Mommy has just called us to a "gastronomical wonder."