Jack's friend Dylan is up for the week. We were off to a great start when we happened upon a HoneyBucket accident on the highway on the way home from the ferry pickup. The honeybuckets had fallen off the truck. They hadn't been emptied. Henry declared it to be a very good omen, because you just aren't lucky enough to see smashed honeybuckets with shit and piss splattered accross the highway everyday.

The boys have started a game which pretty much occupies every moment they are awake and not playing Guitar Hero. It's "Who Would Win in a Fight?" They come up with two similar characters/people and discuss the merits of, well, who would win in a fight. Like Batman and Superman, Lindsay or Britney, Man Versus Wild or Survivorman, Olivia or pretty much anyone else. It was cracking me up yesterday in the car, until they began to tread on dangerous territory. The first category was Jack's dog or Dylan's dog. Jack wanted to defend his dog, but realized that Seamus is a pussy at heart, and so conceded to Dylan. When the subject of which of their dads would kick the other's ass, there was an uncomfortable silence, followed by furious defense of their respective dads. Henry added his two cents, "well, Dad is kind of a gimp, and Dylan's dad is pretty old" (sorry, Greg). I called an end to the game and suggested they don't make it personal anymore. The great thing about boys is, if they hid a sticky spot, they just kind of get over it really fast. With s'mores especially. 'Cuz here in the country, we have s'mores on Tuesday nights. Or Thursdays. Or if we're wearing lace-up shoes or slip-ons.