Rocket Fuel

Sunday morning was a PJ morning. (Coincidentally, my bottoms and top happened to match!) Late in the morning, Will droopily walked into the kitchen and with big sad eyes and a dejected voice said, “Mom… I need rocket fuel.” Before I could respond, Bill replied, “Will, I’m going to the garage right now.” I got a wink, a nod, and a thumbs-up before he went out the door. I saw only electrical wires come into the house.

Friday we stayed at school a bit longer so Will could fly his rocket down the big hill. He had made it: a paper towel roll body, a paper nose cone and a Kleenex parachute. He spent several minutes testing the rocket – throwing it up into the air, spiraling it straight forward, and releasing it while running.

Forty-eight hours later, and after spending Saturday with Bill and another dad/son combo at a Legos convention, Will is asking for rocket fuel. I rarely halt any experiments, unless they involve hot water or fire. Or a toilet bowl brush. And now, rocket fuel. My presence in this house gives the scientific word “control” a whole new meaning in experiments.

During our PJ morning and before breakfast, there was an hour or so of great peace in the house. At one point it was so quiet, I was convinced that Will was probably building Legos in the toy room and Liam was taping some trains together in the living room. I knew they were not together. But then I heard giggles. They were great buddies this morning! I briefly thought about joining in, but then I remembered a line from when they were babies, “Never try to make a happy baby happier.”

Fifteen minutes later, I couldn’t resist, I had to peek. They were in the living room inside a house they had built, complete with fleece blankets and pillows. About the same time I saw them, my other senses kicked in. I smelled chocolate. I heard Liam, in his not yet perfected whisper, “Will, can you open this?” Giggle, giggle. Chortle, chortle. Between the two of them was a gallon bag of Halloween candy. They were absolutely giddy when I busted them. They had pulled one over on me. They knew. I knew. “How many have you had?” There’s my Will, the oldest, the pleaser, “None.” Then my Liam looked at me, grinned and shrugged.

No shelf is out of reach in our house. High shelves are just bigger challenges with greater rewards.

Staying strong and trying to stay one step ahead...