I am three hours deep into an eight-year-0ld boy playdate. 2.9 hours of that time have been dedicated to intense, high volume combat play using nerf weapons and a wooden rubber band gun.
Overheard: “I just want to see what will happen if I shoot you in the balls.”
How about a nice chocolate covered cherry, boys? Candy diversionary tactics rarely fail—except when they decide to demolish the chocolate covered cherry in order to examine and possibly remove said stone fruit. At least our guest is not a charter member of the Brotherhood of The Three Food Choices (“I eat only white bread, American cheese, and organic kiwi fruit.”).
I would get all supermom on them and break out a craft project, but my wisdom and prior experience tells me that I would spend twenty minutes getting it ready and cleaning it up, while they would create masterpieces for exactly thirty seconds, then shoot the creations with nerf darts and rubber bands.
Later, after Playmageddon, I have to go and ransom my car from the garage. I had what I hope is a terrible dream where the mechanic said “Fifteen hundred.” Ouch.
Still, I can’t complain. It’s winter break and it beats working.
Oh, hell. Someone just said “super glue.”