The Petition

It's getting dark at about 5:30 pm these days. This throws off the circadian rhythms in our house. 8 pm? 2 am? There is no difference.

DH and I were half asleep on the couch tonight when the doorbell rang.

We stared at each other with a half-panicked look that can only mean, "Who did you forget to tell me you invited over?"

I threw the blanket over my head, defaulting him to answer the impatient visitor.

DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK

There better be a fire somewhere, I thought.

Rather, it was the 7-year old from across the street.

"Why, you are certainly up late for a school night," DH said into the pitch black night.

"Uh, it's only 7:15." the boy said. He went on to explain that he was gathering signatures to get the "No ATV's" rule scrapped from the association guide.

I imagine this rule exists for a reason, like to keep 7-year old boys with extended bedtimes from cruising by our house on their ATV's looking for trouble.

DH quickly signed his clipboard so he could get back to his midnight snack and go to bed.

I would have yelled at him not to sign, but I have a feeling this kid will come in handy when I want to build a tennis court or raise chickens in my yard.

The Marketing Genius

We live in the country. This means boys, at a young age, get some sort of ride atop motorized vehicle with which they rip up their mother's flowers gardens and make their dad's proud.

Baby Boy got a tractor last summer, which I imagined would last him until he got a driver's license. Well, the damn thing lost its Reverse gear and the now bare tires unapologetically spin on the pavement unable to get traction.

My favorite noise, followed by, "MAMA, I'M 'TUCK!!!"

The older boy across the street has a much beefier ATV. It is quite the envy of the neighborhood, and since my son is the only other boy on the street, you do the math.

The ATV appeared at the end of their driveway yesterday with an optimistic "For Sale $350.00" sign on it.

About every ten minutes the price either drops or it inches closer to the top of our driveway.

It is one of the few times I am glad Baby Boy can't read.