Why I Hate Penguins and Hobos

It is 11:37pm on a school night and I have two angry little boys.  The Third Grader has informed me that he wishes Middle Child did not live with us, but instead wishes that he was a hobo complete with a red and white polka dotted bag on the end of a stick.  Those were his exact words.  In fact, they took turns calling each other hobos and took turns crying because they were hurting each others feelings. 

When I googled 'hobo with a polka dotted bag' all kinds of cute purses popped up.  Unfortunately, we spent $984 in car repairs last week or maybe I'd order one... 

Then I googled 'hobo with a polka dotted bag on a stick' and got this hilarious picture of McCauley Culkin next to what appears to be a hobo.  Poor child actors.  They just don't know how to handle all that money.

And then I learned what they call the people who hang out in Starbucks for too long working but not buying anything...Laptop Hobos.  Makes sense.  I guess.

Hobo.

Say it 10 times slowly.

Are you sure it's still a word?

Hobo.

It's starting to sound odd right?

I digress.  Who can stay on track with a word like hobo?

All of this hobo business started with a penguin.

A tiny penguin the size of your thumb that was given to kids at school who completed a fundraiser.  The Third Grader brought home Brownie the Penguin two days ago and grew quite attached to him. Yes, he named him. He let Middle Child play with him a little and hold him for a few minutes at a time.  He left him lovingly nestled in his underwear drawer while he went to school.

That was a mistake.

Middle Child took it upon himself to babysit Brownie the Penguin and take him on a field trip to the library.  All was well until we got home and realized poor Brownie was no where to be found.  Middle Child insisted he fell out of his pocket in the VAN, not the library.  Whew.  That's a relief.  Our search and rescue team did not locate Brownie.  Yikes....

It was at this moment in time that The Third Grader completely lost it and had the mother of all melt downs mourning the loss of Brownie. 

Me:  When exactly do you think you lost the penguin?  Where did you see it last?

Middle Child:  Are you going to be mad?  Is The Third Grader listening?  I think it was actually in the library...not the van.

<Insert Jack-o-lantern type smile from Middle Child here>

The Third Grader:  WHAAAAAAT???!! 

It was at this point that The Third Grader decided he no longer wanted a brother and wished that he (Middle Child) was a hobo. 

With a bag on the end of a stick for all of his worldly possessions.  Of course, there would be no penguin in that bag.

The night continued to go downhill from there.

Let's fast forward two weeks.  I am walking down the hall of The Third Grader's school with Middle Child when I see this poster on the wall by his classroom.  It is covered with pictures of those tiny penguins.  There was a caveman penguin, like The Third Grader's, a basketball player, a snowman, a regular penguin and tons more. 

When I saw this poster, all I could think of was how the images of those 20 or 30 penguins taunted poor Third Grader every day when he walked down the hall to gym or the library.  Every day he saw those little penguins and remembered that his non-hobo brother lost his.  Every day he worried and waited to see if the principal called the caveman penguin as the winner and he would not have his at school, so he would miss out on the prize. 

After I realized this, I thought maybe his meltdown wasn't as bad as it could have been.  Not that I am excusing it, because he acted like a total turd, but he does put up with a lot.  So do I.  But, he did try to keep his prize safe and something still happened to it.  For once, he tried. 

I am happy to report that there are no hobos in the family, as of yet.   The use of the word has even slowed down.  Really, how many kids do you hear call each other hobos? 

If that's as bad as it gets, I can handle it.