Burrito, Boys, Horseplay & School Clothes

This would be my oldest male child's Lair -- black sheets, black curtains, fake fur throw, black fur pillow shams [pfft, thrrff, flaaah says Mother, trying to nap on said shams, spitting out fake fur], but beautiful and HUGE pieces of dark cherry furniture selected and purchased by oldest male child. Youngest male child tends to gravitate to The Lair for noshing, DVD-watching, wrestling matches, conversation, and sleep. Oldest male child never succeeds in evicting youngest male child. By 6 a.m., male children in tangled pile of limbs that melts Mother's heart. [Note: Mother still giggling privately about choice of black for oldest male child's linens, but nonetheless coveting the incredible ceiling fan he also chose, paid for, and installed, an accessory MUCH NEEDED in Mother's studio. True story.] Youngest torments Oldest. Kodak Moment Not Captured By The MuthaCam: when Oldest swats Youngest then wrestles burrito out of his hands. Ensuing Battle for Possession of the Burrito. Mother ducking, protecting MuthaCam with both hands from flying son limbs and burrito contents. And here we have my youngest male child noshing on said carne asada burrito with pico de gallo and guacomole. I brought that boy up right, didn't I? I'm so proud! Ah, the Oldest Male Child, he does tolerate Mother with MuthaCam so beautifully, doesn't he? The two of 'em were ogling a Mariah Carey video -- forgive me, but inasmuchas yes, she can sing, she is also a HOOCHIE DELUXE!! I wonder when she'll stop dressing like a 17 year old cheerleader? Never seen a woman more proud of her -- uh -- lungs! Double BB's school clothes shopping expedition with the youngest male child meets with far greater success than Mother's. Eesh. Blimey. Shite. Ain't it always so? My GQ guys stick together, they surely do. K for Kevin? I was too scared to ask, thinking it would be taken as a 'stoopid, only-a-Mother-would-ask' species of question. "No, don't shoot the logo, Mom. Shoot the pockets. The left pocket!" Yes Sir. And my youngest male child has the NERVE to tell me he needs a pair of 'all white tennis shoes'. Hmmm. I can at least do a Snoopy Dance because he's earned the money to pay for 90% of these.