Yes, I Am Raising the Most Violent Boys Ever

The conversation started at Home Depot. Ethan was walking along beside me, touching, feeling and, yes, sometimes licking every shiny object we passed. Wyatt was in the cart screaming and yelling because he wanted to be able to touch, feel and lick everything big brother did. I explained to Wyatt that he couldn't get out of the cart because he was so cute someone would steal him from me. Anyone overhearing my boast might think that an exaggeration considering I was talking to a screaming, sweating, snotty two year old, but hey, he believed me.
Ethan wanted to teach him what to do if someone did try to steal him. Goes to show what a good big brother he is. At that age, my advice to my little brother was always "don't forget to wave good-bye" ;)

Wyatt, if someone tries to steal you, you have to kick them in the peepee and run away.

Umm. Clearly something Greg taught him.
Wyatt was on board with this, though. He continued to come up with all types of ways to lay some hurt down on said snotty-two-year-old stealers.

I poke him in his eyes and run back to you Mommy. I kick him in the face and run back to you Mommy. I punch him in the tummy. And then I pull his hair. And pinch him. And bite him on the arm.

Ethan could not be outdone, however. More violence was needed to ensure my Mother of the Year status to all of the other Home Depot patrons looking on with a mixture of sympathy and horror.

Well I would hit him on the head with a hammer. And then I would kick him in the tushi. And I would punch him in the eye. And then push him down in the mud.

But Wyatt wanted to have the last word. You could see his little mind trying so hard to come up with the most horrible thing to do to the child napper.

I...I...I....would change his diaper!