Do you know what a brumming truck is?

I bet you don't.

But we four here at the Chesser house sure do.

A brumming truck is a toy truck of any size or shape that can spontaneously be transformed from a sedentary child's plaything into a fast-moving, fear-inducing, wrecking ball of Henry-propelled destruction. Said object is most often aimed directly at an unassuming 8-month old who offended his older brother by taking too much of mommy's time and attention. Or for no reason at all. You really never know with a brumming truck.

Brumming trucks are 'not allowed in mommy's house'...for the record.

Yesterday, we experienced the motorcycle variety of the brumming truck. Baby James was trying to finish up his afternoon meal, and Henry took it upon himself to provide the dessert - a face full of brumming. As per the house rule, the brumming motorcycle was taken outside and put into the trashcan for Luis (remember the nice man in the garbage truck blog post?).

Yep, as mean as it sounds and as much as I NEVER thought I would tell my babies that I was throwing their toys away, brumming trucks are taken straight outside to the trash. It's what works, people.

Within a few minutes of the motorcycle being sent to pasture, Henry became apologetic. He hugged his brother, he hugged me, he said he was "sooooo sorry," and then he asked for his little brumming motorcycle back. I asked him if he thought the motorcycle was ready to stop brumming. He said that it was. So, out we walked to retrieve it. I reminded him on the way that "brumming trucks aren't allowed in mommy's house, and if he does it again, the motorcycle will go right back into the trash."

As we came in the backdoor, Henry told me he needed to 'put the motorcycle over here [on the kitchen table] for safety.' I told him that would be a good idea, and then I proceeded to wash out a few dishes on the kitchen counter. As I'm doing that, I hear a little brumming coming from the table. You know, as in, "bbbbbrummmmmmmm....bbbbrummmmm". I turn around to see Henry (sans motorcycle) running straight at me making his very best brumming engine sound.

By the time he got to me, he was full-speed ahead...and not stopping. Crash, boom, bang...he dramatically fakes a fall to the floor after clobbering me. I kneel down to make sure he's okay, and he's got this at the ready: "I brummed mommy. Throw me in the trash, please, mommy. Do it. Throw me in it. Brumming things aren't allowed in mommy's house."

I guess I'm glad he was listening...sweet little literal two-year olds. Gotta love 'em (and make sure they know that human brummers NEVER go out with the garbage)!