One of the (late-coming) presents we got for Yo-Yo’s birthday was a book called The Dangerous Book For Boys, by Con Iggulden and Hal Iggulden.
He also got walkie-talkies, the Big Shebang Gift, the gift that inspired the jumping up and down happy dance and spontaneous bear hugs. But after a couple days of walking and talking, interest in the battery-powered objects faded a bit and the new book started getting more face time.
The book has rapidly become a prized possession. There’s crafty fun (the kids have made water bombs out of paper and the world’s best paper airplane, and it really is good), directions for games, and tons of useful facts and information, including first aid of which Yo-Yo has already tried out on himself after ripping off a scab on his foot while he was in the shower. (Unfortunately all the blood didn’t stay in the shower.)
“You know how I stopped the blood? he asked. “I pressed down on my leg right above the wound to cut off the flow and it stopped real fast. I learned that in my book, and it worked!”
So now, thanks to this book, when my kids interrupt me on the phone, instead of my standard screening question of Is anyone bleeding or dying? I’ll be able to say, If you’re bleeding, take care of it. If you’re dying, let me know.
The kids got (fresh) inspiration for a treehouse from the book.
For two days now, they’ve been loading up the wagon with old wood, nails, and hammers, and tromping down through the field to the construction site. It entertains them for hours.
It’s fun to watch Yo-Yo. He gets fully engrossed in his work.
He whistles when he’s happy, and while building, he whistles constantly. He only leaves off the pucker flute to pause, take stock of what he’s doing, and make disgusted statements such as, “That board is seven inches off!”
And then the whistling resumes.
It cracks me up, this focus that washes over him when he’s in possession of a hammer and some nails. He’s totally his papa’s son.
(Though Mr. Handsome is not a whistler and I’m sure he’d like me to inform you that he is never ever off seven inches of anything. Ever.)