In a nutshell...

The boys had parent teacher conferences this week.  Both got glowing reports from their teachers, perfect report cards, a book from the book fair and two proud parents.  There are a lot of things that make me happy with my kids, but the fact that they do well in school, are helpful and studious, kind enough to their fellow classmates that their teachers make it a point to tell us, makes me pretty glowy.  I love these kids and was proud of them.

Then, we went to dinner.

We went to a new place.   It had buttered noodles on the menu, which is a score for two of the three children that live in my house.  We didn't, however, know that the buttered noodles came with... CHEESE!

Oh cheese.  Why must you be so...cheesy!

Before the pasta was completely set on the table, boy #2 started the "I'm afraid the food might kill me or sneak into my room in the night" histrionics.  He nearly threw up at the sight of pasta with shredded Parmesan cheese on top.  After he escalated to a point we haven't seen before,  he got taken out to the car.  Boy number #3, seeing the award winning hissy fit  of his older brother, decided to throw one of the same caliber declaring that he couldn't eat his pasta either, that it was "gwoss", instead crying for the "crispy" that we had bought for a treat if everyone behaved and ATE their dinner.  I caught his bowl of pasta just as it was being pushed off the table.

Where was boy #1 during all of this?  Mostly eating his dinner, and making fun of his brothers because he thought he was pretty cool.  He was pretty cool until he opened up his sandwich and started picking out all the bits and pieces he wanted to eat and then let out such a loud and disgusting belch that 1) I'm surprised YOU didn't hear it and 2) everyone in the restaurant heard it.

Ross and I ate fast.

We boxed up all the food that didn't get eaten.

We left.

Those boys, #1, #2, and #3 got a mother of a lecture in the car before we pulled out of the parking lot.  They apologized and swore such behavior would never happen again (ha!  at least I'm smart enough not to believe them.)  We got home and the boys three ran outside on a beautiful night to jump on the trampoline, while their parents lamented their behavior in the house.

Two minutes later, I opened the door to tell them to be careful with their little brother on the trampoline.  At that moment, boy #1 did the biggest jump he could, sent boy #3 flying through the air and landing with a whiplash splat onto the black of the trampoline.  Bring the crying back!

THAT got a swear word, marching orders, and early showers and bedtime.

Lesson to be learned:  Good behavior at school apparently went to their heads.