Apparently, three. Plus, an unwilling preteen boy to actually do the light bulb changing. You see, we've got this random light in the ceiling of our stairwell. It's ridiculously high up, and thus, has been burnt out for the better part of our seven years in this house.
Yesterday, I heard some clanking, and low and behold, it's Luke with the ladder--trying to find a way to angle it on the stairs so that it's sturdy enough to climb. After about seventeen different tried and failed ideas, he headed to the neighbors' houses. Our neighbors (who, incidentally, are twin brothers) headed over, and the three grown men do what men do best. Spend an hour trying to find an elaborate solution to a relatively simple problem. Seriously, here are some snippets, "Do you have any duct tape?" "What weight is this sheet rock?" "Do you think one of the neighbors has a 25 foot extension ladder?" "scaffolding" "rig it up"...you get the picture. Finally, they ended up using brute strength. Duh. Oh, but even that wasn't simple. They had a full ten minute discussion about who weighed less and was more expendable--me, or the neighbor's boy--first of all, you could have just asked us how much we weighed; second, the boy is completely expendable so he wins automatically, even if I may weigh an ounce less. So, one man held the ladder at the base, two held it at the top, angled, while Travis climbed the ladder and changed the bulb. Whew! Saturday afternoon pretty much wasted...
Also, it finally happened. Joshua knocked over Samantha's high chair while she was sitting in it. This one defied description.
He redeemed himself last night, though. We were at a wedding reception at the church and he began the dreaded potty dance. We started running for the bathroom, when all of a sudden he stopped and said, "This is Heavenly Father's house!", folded his arms, and walk-potty danced all the way to the bathroom. No compromise, no exceptions! That's my boy.