If I Had a Hammer

One of our favorite toys around here are our hammers. Deacon especially favors the wooden yellow and green one we have, but they both love to have a hammer in hand as they traipse about the house.

Now, this is fine, and it's fun, and it makes them happy. The problem lies in the fact that they just can't seem to be content holding the hammers. They must swing the hammers about. This isn't necessarily bad except that it usually leads to swinging hammers at each other and me having to say, "Do NOT hit your brother with that hammer!" (Ah, the things we say once we have children.)

One morning, hammer swinging was in full effect and I had told them to stop swinging their hammers at each other a number of times, when Zeke finally landed a solid shot on Deacon's hand, causing Deacon to cry a little. So, I took the hammers away from both of them, and this is what followed:

I'm not even joking, or using a picture from another instance. I took their hammers and they both melted down right there on the spot. I think it took them a good 3 minutes before they calmed down and got over it. The hammers stayed in time out on the mantle the rest of the day, but rest assured, no sooner was breakfast over the next day then the boys were clamoring to get their hammers back.

And for that one day, they listened to me when I told them not to swing their hammers at each other. And for that one day they hammered out a song to sing all over this land. No, they didn't. For that one day, it wasn't a hit with a hammer that caused Deacon to cry. Don't worry, Zeke still achieved that goal, just in a different way. But it was a hammer-less way.