Far better than any mirror. If you want to see the Real You, have a kid.

Only your own kids will be the authentic reflections of yourself.  No amount of natural sunlight or magnified mirrors could equate to the accurate reflection of oneself that one’s own offspring offer up.

  

We all feel we’ve got a pretty good grasp on “Who we are”, probably.  For instance, if asked about my personal traits, I might describe myself as generous, humorous, and passionate.  (There are more adjectives I could throw out there, but we’ll keep it short and positive.)  I feel I’m a pretty good judge of who I am, and how others perceive me.  But, having kids has made me realize just how wrong I may have been all these years.  It’s been a real eye opener to see through my children just how I possibly look and sound to the outside world.

For starters, I must use my hands a whole LOT during verbal communication.  This is a typical behavior for someone of Italian decent, but it wasn’t so noticeable to me until I began to see just how much my son throws his skinny little arms up and tosses his hands about like he’s whippin’ around a pizza dough when speaking.  Because his gestures are so all over the place, I’ve become way more cognisant of my own nonverbal communications.  If he’s this extravagant with his gestures, and I can see he must have learned it from me, then certainly I can stand to dial it back a bit.  (“Work in progress”.  Add that to the list of ways I’d also describe me.)  And, so began my journey to knowing myself on a different level.  So began the beginning of my new “self-analysis”…..

Have you ever really paid attention to how many words you overuse?  People often have a go-to phrase or word that they use frequently, like “Wow”, or “Oh my god!”, or “that’s crazy”.  Well, apparently, I say “that’s annoying” A LOT.  I also seriously overuse the word “seriously”.  If I had a nickel for every time my kids say to one another “that’s annoying”, “you’re annoying me”, and “seriously!?!?”, I’d seriously have a shit load of nickels!  I used to think that I had a pretty extended vocabulary and have always made a conscious effort to grow my word bank on a regular basis.  So to find out that I am not as articulate as I’d once perceived myself to be was a bit disappointing.  Although it’s a tad hard to admit, it’s right in my face on a regular basis so there’s really no denying that they’ve learned this stuff from their mama.  And if I’m this tired of hearing them utter those words, well gosh- other people have got to be at least minimally bugged by my saying them so much.  And, just as any good sitcom would have it- right on cue, another reminder of an annoying and too-often-spoken saying of mine has just manifested, courtesy of my children.  

At this very moment, my convenient sons brought to mind yet another phrase I could use some serious scaling back on: While playing a Power Rangers game on their computer in the other room, I hear one say to the other “turn it up, all the way”.  The multi-tasking mom within me doesn’t skip a beat while typing away here on this trusty old laptop and “No way, José!” I yell to them.  No. Way. José.   Yeah, I really just said that.  Really now…  Who the hell came up with that one?  AND, when the hell did I become so corny!?  I’m ashamed that my cool factor has plummeted so far that this is a phrase I’ve now got to literally train myself to omit from my vocabulary.  You know when I first realized that I even say this phrase at all?  Last Spring, at my oldest boy’s “Mommy and Me Polite Party” for Pre-K.  As the teacher pleasantly read a story about party etiquette and politeness, she polled the children on the right and wrong ways for the story’s animal characters to behave.  My son yelled out “No way, José!” each time the other kids answered with a simple “no”.  I can recall thinking to myself, “Holy crap- why is he saying this?”  There was some light giggling at him; as in, “Awe how cute” from the other mothers.  But inside I was kind of mortified and asking myself, “How often do I say this to the kid?”  Later that evening, I caught myself uttering the same phrase.  How lame.  I mean, seriously, what a lame saying…. Who says that?  (smh)  Welp….  Me.  Obviously.  And apparently, A LOT.  (Note to self, find cooler expressions to utter than something involving some unknown Spanish dude’s name.) 

It’s not all bad, though.  I’m pleased to report that I’ve projected some pretty fine words and ways onto these offspring of mine.  I’ve come to realize that I’m quite the Polite Polly, through them.  Because of my overuse in “thank you’s”, “Pleases” and “Excuse me’s”, my little guys are pretty widely known as two respectful lil dudes.  I’ve learned about myself that I value respect a whole lot, and it’s a proud moment for the hubs and I when our children are complimented on their polite manners.  They’re also very considerate of others and generous with their help and with their toys.  Something I’m confident that I’d instilled in them through not just instruction, but with my own actions in helping friends and through volunteer work.

Yes.  No matter how honest your family or friends may be, no one can relay to you the ways you authentically present yourself to the world better than your kids.  By emulating the first teachers they have, their parents, you are privy to exact attitudes, mannerisms, and words that you’ve been unintentionally instilling into them, day after day.  Many individuals describe children as sponges.  Perhaps, to some extent, this is true.  For me, my sons are more like mirrors.  Soaking in the true essence of me, and reflecting it right back at me: Ugly, Lovely or indifferent.

These little “Reflections” don’t have a clue that they’re actually helping teach me about bettering myself, or that they help navigate the way I parent them as well.  Every time I hear them sigh loudly out of aggravation and frustration, I am made ever more aware of my own issues with impatience.  And I work a little harder to demonstrate to them, and me, that a little patience and understanding go a long way.  And whenever I see them helping a friend on the play ground, or assist one another in cleaning up their crayons, I’m reminded about how important it is to be cooperative and there for others.

These two boys are actually a pair of mirrors this sleep deprived and disheveled mom won’t be avoiding any time soon.  That’s for certain.

There’s a poem I came across quite a long while ago that seemed to really resonate with the people I’d shared it with.  I don’t know where it originated, or who wrote it- but it’s lovely and uplifting.  I’m choosing to share it here now, because times are tough for a lot of folks.  Lives are ending, marriages dissolving, homes foreclosing, jobs being lost, and many other trials in between.  It’s important not to lose hope, because it will pass.  Just as other difficult times have.  So this post is for everyone going through something difficult, including myself and my family.

As many times as you’ve been down and out, tears falling from your eyes, and grappling with the harsh realities that have befallen you with heart heavy in chest, you made it through.  Recall the occasions that came next.  After the tears have dried, and the pain diminished, came laughter, smiles and hope.  Brighter days followed, whether it was soon after, or a long time coming.  It got better. 

No matter what sadness, hurt, disappointment, anguish, anxiety, or stress you felt- none of it lasted.  Time moves on, and with it comes light and happiness.  The birth of children, the mending of relations, and opportunity of new jobs, new loves, new friends, new homes, new happy experiences and memories…

New lives evolve out of the situations we endure and conquer.

You grow from the adversity you experience.  Insight is gained, maturity honed, lessons learned.  In the end, everything is A. Okay. Even if it's difficult to believe right now at this moment you find yourself in. 

Here’s a lovely, rhyming reminder of just that:

Don't You Quit

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,

When the funds are low and the debts are high,

And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit-

Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,

As every one of us sometimes learns,

And many a fellow turns about

When he might have won had he stuck it out.

Don't give up though the pace seems slow -

You may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than

It seems to a faint and faltering man;

Often the struggler has given up

When he might have captured the victor's cup;

And he learned too late when the night came down,

How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out -

The silver tint in the clouds of doubt,

And you never can tell how close you are,

It might be near when it seems afar;

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit -

It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

Our Halloweens, Past & Present ☺

And if you want a reminder of just how quickly change happens all around you, just take a look at children....

This is Halloween 3 short years ago... My little Lion and Scarecrow in our ensemble of the Wizard of OZ. 

(Yes, that's me in the background, Dorothy.  And no, that was not a wig- but my Real Hair.  I went through a red phase...  Shouldn't every gal? 

My Tin Man Husband was busy painting his face Silver in the bathroom, and this shot was taken pre the crying and screaming that his scary face caused in the children.  They had no idea who he was and in turn suffered frightened meltdowns before heading out to Trick-or-Treat.)

 



Halloween 2009:

We were each an element that makes up a S'more...

Our Marshmallow...

& Our Chocolate Bar.... 

(And you can assume that my husband and I were each Graham Crackers.  So sorry we have no family pics on our laptop files...  as they were taken my my mother with her own camera.)

This is them as a Vampire and a Pirate from the same year, for their aunt's Halloween Bash....

Finally, last year they broke away from our "Family Ensemble" and chose their costumes based off of what they found most interesting in a Walmart aisle....

The Magician and his Bunny Rabbit. 

(A little too big to be pulled out of the hat, but cute as a bunny just the same. ;-)  You should see the view from the back, his tail was the cutest part!)

And this year, Halloween 2011, the kids will dress up as their favorite super heroes.  (And Dad and Mom will join in on the fun again, as the villains!):

Our Brave Spiderman and Batman.... 

I will dress as (a very less sexy) Cat Woman-think kitty ears, a tail and drawn on whiskers with black sweats.  And my hubs will dress up as The Joker.

Even our new pooch will join in on the fun this year...

Super Dog Rocky, at your service!!!

Hard to believe these are the same kids...  they grow so fast.  And each Halloween comes around more quickly than the last!

So cherish every moment- the pumpkin pickin' and carving.  The dressing up.  The decorated spooky treats, and rooms.... Knocking on cheerful neighbors' doors. Bonfires (with S'mores, of course!).  The Halloween movies, scary music, and sugar highs!  The whole nine yards!  These are memories that both kids and their parents alike will recall and cherish for years to come. ♥

*Added:

The family photos on our buffet table.

At least you get a sense of how big and scary the Tin Man was for these little kids.  :)

Unpredictable Chaotic Bliss

You never know what the day will bring.  Even with the predictability of being a stay home mom of two toddlers, this is true.  While I must admit our “adventures” are limited.  (Say like… to the park, grocery market, or nearest Chic fil A play area.)  There are still a plethora of places and situations one can find herself in when she’s running around with little kids as sidekicks.  The randomness of being a parent of young kids is constant.   You wake up thinking you’ll scramble some eggs and bacon, and instead its pancakes and sausage they want.  Sure, this is one miniscule example.  But this is just the first five minutes of your day.  You believe you’re ahead of the game with their outfits picked out the night before, only to be met with pouty lips, and watery eyes because it’s the wrong shirt you’ve chosen.  (You pick and choose your battles, but with just fifteen minutes left to get to preschool, I’d be willing to bet you’d swap that striped shirt for the Batman one, too.   You’d probably also feed your kid whatever it is (within reason) that will get him to eat, just so that you can follow through with brushing of the teeth and the hair, doing the dressing, the putting on of the socks and shoes, the back pack, etcetera etcetera etcetera – just to get out of the freaking door!)  Then….. someone’s got to poop.  ALWAYS!  Poop never ceases to come at the most inopportune times!  Just before the movie starts at the theatre, right as you’re about to stuff that fork full of pasta fasul into your mouth, and always when you’re rushing out the door to get somewhere on time!  So, after doing his business and, attempting to wipe the tushy himself, he flushes the poo along with twenty pounds of toilet paper, causing the toilet to over flow- soaking more than just the floor.  Time to pick out a third shirt, and grab your good towels to clean up the stinky, soaking wet mess happening on the bathroom floor.  (Because the good towels are the closest to you and because the only things you care about right now is trying to NOT be locked out of the preschool building.)   All in a weekday morning!  See?  Hectic situations ensue on a daily basis with these tiny, chaotic people.  Schedule things?  Ha!  The very idea of scheduling laughs in my face.

How about you’re rolling along the highway at 60 miles per hour heading to a doctor’s appointment, when one of your kids projectile vomits.  The flowing liquid in the rear view mirror catches the corner of your eye, and the screams or horror from his sibling next to him render you so off guard that it triggers your foot to slam on the brake.  In doing so, the airborne mass of disgustingness propels forward at an even higher velocity, covering your face just as you turn backwards to see what exactly this disgusting looking levitated matter is.  Now you’re swerving off the road, where you vehicular manslaughter a baby turtle, and narrowly miss a billboard sign for some kind of erectile dysfunction medication in the middle of Interstate 95, wondering what the heck happened, and how the hell you’ll ever be able to afford the nine hundred dollar ticket for reckless driving you now have because the cop who came to your aid is single and childless and has no sympathy whatsoever for what you’ve just gone through! 

No.  This did not really happen to me.  But it’s entirely possible, give the fact that kids are so damn unpredictable and have a knack for making things happen that you couldn’t have possibly foreseen in a million years. 

And oh the questions I’m faced with explaining to these inquisitive boys and the things we get into because of those incessant inquiries.  It’s a domino effect, and there’s no end in sight!  This morning, for instance, I found myself answering the question from my four year old as to why some people call the beach the desert.  Undoubtedly a question brought on by some cartoon episode I had entertaining the kids while I attempted to cook breakfast.  (Who says tv doesn’t teach?)  Out came the laptop, up came the Google screen, and in a nano second there was a map of the US, which aided me tremendously in my explanation of how sand without the ocean is not a beach.  ….Whiiiich brought us to finger painting pictures of the sand and surf per the kids’ requests.  A filthy kitchen, two color-covered little dudes, and a whopping mess of paint, papers, brushes, toilet paper rolls and plates later…. I’m exhausted, and I’ve spent my whole morning and afternoon doing something that I didn’t anticipate I’d be doing when I awoke this morning.  This, of course, means that I got nothing else of any importance done today. Like, organizing the bills (Me?  Organized? Ha!), calling to have some erroneous charge removed from my checking account (PI work, aka those dang websites claiming free trials to look up legal documents on people but who really jip you by charging ANYWAY, costs money), making one single bed in this house (Oh well, we’ll just mess ‘em up in a few hours again anyway), or finishing any one of the hundred unfinished house projects that have remained unfinished for months (What’s one more day?)…. But to be fair, making a mess painting with two lil cuties in the kitchen is way more fun than doing adult chores.   Any day.

Point is: 

If you’re an anal retentive, scheduling crazed, orderly, clean, hectic-life-hatin’, methodical, precise person- do not have kids!  Or.  Have them anyway and embrace your newfound chaos.  You’ll be kissing goodbye this idea of an actual clean and structured lifestyle for a good long while.  But if anything is worth it, kids are!

End note:  Literally, just as I was about to post this, my four year old came running out from his bed screaming "Bloody nose!  I got a bloody nose!"

I couldn't make this stuff up.....  Unpredictable, indeed.



Don’t Play Ball with Mean Girls

In my recent Internet travels, I came across a most poignant story written by another woman and mother.  Liked it so much, I shared it on my facebook wall.  In a nutshell, she’d been discussing the topic of how to deal with difficult people, slash situations, with a girlfriend of hers.  Some folks are inherently difficult.  And mud-slinging types are obviously everywhere.  Sometimes it can feel almost impossible to not be sucked into their drama.  Her friend told her she just doesn’t hit the ball back to these kinds of people.   That adhering to the phrase “don’t hit the ball back”, has gotten her through those tough times when someone’s batting (and I’m paraphrasing here) a Ball full of BS at her.  The author of this piece concluded that the phrase has stuck with her.  Even though there are numerous other adages pertaining to these kinds of situations, such as “take the high road” (very commonly used around my parts) and “don’t stoop to their level”, (timeless), “I don’t have to show up to every argument I’m invited to” (clever), and “the world’s full of cactus, doesn’t mean I have to sit on one” (one that’s sure to bring a chuckle), this ball analogy one just stands out most.  Perhaps it’s because the others are played out.  When we hear something enough times, we cease to hear it anymore.  The audible sound is there, but the meaning’s lost.  Faded from its overuse, it slowly comes to hold no weight.  That’s one theory.  And personally, this new phrase also resonates because I’m a very visual person.  The mental picture that it conjures up works for me: When someone is slinging mud (the ball) at me, I can let it lie there, instead of ‘batting’ back.  I like that.  It’s my choice.  I can keep the ball game going, or I can see it for what it truly is, and walk off the field.  (One that sometimes, I wasn’t even aware I was standing on, for a game I didn’t know I was even in, in the first place.)

At this point in my life: a mother of two, a wife, a pet owner twice over, home owner and multiple bill possessor… nearing the big 3-0, I’ve learned quite a few surprising life lessons.  This specific post will focus on one of those.  (And if you’ve fallen off track with my “big 3-0” comment, spare me the head shaking and dramatic commentary.  I know that 30 isn’t “old”, but it is a landmark birthday for any woman.  And while I’m aware that people over thirty may be reading this and could potentially find it laughable or find it insulting- it’s not meant to be taken that way.  If you’ve passed your 30^th, I’m sure you didn’t do so without at least batting an eyelash.  It’s kind of a big deal.  Therefore, I feel I’m entitled to the use of the word “big” when referencing it.  So, let’s get back on track.)

At the age of 25, supposedly, the part of our brains that understands consequence is supposed to have matured, allowing us to adequately choose between good and bad behavior. This one lesson I’d like to focus on presently is: Immaturity fades, meanness however, does not.  Plainly put: Women do not outgrow Mean.  Immaturity fades away with most of the life changes I’ve listed above.  But true mean girls just grow up to be mean women.  Sure there may have been unfortunate incidents where we females can recall with cringed expressions a time in our adolescence that we dropped the ball and acted unkind, snarky or even mean.  Hell, we may have even been bitchy as recent as last week to a brawd that cut us off in the parking lot of the grocery market.  But that’s not what I’m talking about here.  I’m addressing perpetual meanness.  You see it on tv: Hello Real Housewives!  You see it in the news: Female politicians publicly dissing their opponents based on the other woman’s appearance.  And probably, you’ve seen it in your own social circles.  I see it time and again, thus I’m convinced it’s got to be true.  Heck, even a recent study done by Indiana University in Bloomington found that children who are remorseless bullies usually go on to develop “severe behavioral problems such as fighting, lying and stealing” well into adulthood.  There you have it!  Scientific data to back it up!  But, seriously, they could have just asked almost any lady out there, and we could have told ‘em all about it.

Just recently, I’ve been made privy to the most heinous remarks made by a female in a social circle that I “travel in”.  I gasped out loud.  Oh the stories!  Somehow they can still manage to blow my mind!  But nothing is like seeing it with your own two eyes.  A very kind woman I met a couple of years ago is the latest victim of a few Grown Mean Girls, and I’d had the opportunity to see the exact email correspondence that ensued.  The words that these GMG’s used, one in particular, are ones that I could never imagine uttering to another woman.  (If you don’t know me personally, I should point out that I’m no soft spoken wall flower of a chick.  I curse.  Regularly.  I’ve got hot head Sicilian and Italian blood running through my veins and I do not allow myself to be walked on-Ever.)  With that cleared up, I would think that at a certain age and point in ones’ life, unless you are complete trash or under the influence of drugs, there are particular words you’d steer clear from “throwing” at other adults.  And certain topics we should refrain from, as well, say like family.  I’m of the firm belief that you can very clearly get your point across while maintaining your self respect and dignity.  Although, one could certainly argue that these types have no dignity. 

A reoccurring theme I see in some of these, er, situations… is when one person becomes the target after refusing to participate in the meanness.  The aforementioned friend is one of these people.  She’d had it with the manipulative undercurrent of a set few within a larger circle of friends, and she called the nastiest GMG out on her bad behavior, using specific examples that had accumulated over quite a long period of time to explain why it was people were beginning to exclude her.  The accounts of lying, manipulating, back stabbing, two faced trash talking and outright bullying, were laid out by my friend on a silver platter.  (Speaking of “balls”, not a lot of us women could have found the courage to be so forthcoming and honest.  I applaud her.)  This GMG undoubtedly took the message as a threat, instead of a lesson in “How to Treat Others 101” and began work on another web of deceit and damage control with the few women she had left in her corner.  One by one her minions clicked the “delete” button on their facebook friends lists on the woman who dared go against the “ring leader” of the GMG’s.  And one even had the “balls” to throw some truly ghastly messages her way.  I haven’t heard yet, but I know how much class this friend of mine has, so I’m fairly certain she let those balls lie right there in silence.

Once, in middle school, I’d refused to go along with the birthday girl’s idea of doing something catty to another girl at her sleep over party.  This mean girl plotted and planned and roped some others in on doing one thing or another to her poor unsuspecting victim, once the gal fell asleep in her sleeping bag.  I outright refused.  I don’t find humor in laughing at others’ expense.  I come from the school of “laughing with you, not at you”- of course this mentality completely goes out the window if you fall down steps, or break a chair upon sitting in it.  Then you’re free game.  (I’d still give you a hand to help you up- but let’s keep it real, funny’s funny.) I digress…  I think you can see where I’m going with this story.  An “insider” proved her loyalty to me by informing me that I’d ticked this birthday meany off so much by not going along with her evil scheme (which in turn, caused some others to not go along with it) that she’d changed her target to Me.  I vowed to stay awake ALL night, and succeeded.  Hymph.  Point in case- these mean asses are of the mind that if you’re not “with them”, you are “against them”.  And watch out then, because when they throw their balls, they’re aiming for below the belt!  …  It also makes me believe that some of these GMG’s ‘friends’ are just afraid of being on the other end of the stick, and so they follow the old “Keep your enemies closer” mentality just like they did in middle school.

These days I’m being very cautious as to whom I will call a friend.  ‘Sticks and Stones’- say what they will, these GMG’s will not get to play with me.  They can throw enough digs my way to have dug a hole large enough to burry themselves in, and they still will not get the satisfaction of a response from moi.  No sense in “hitting back the ball” with these types.  I’d had my fair share of experience with this kind of person, and seen enough of other’s dealings with them.  There’s no changing them.  Puberty has already proven this point.  And they don’t deserve the attention from the rest of us.  Just “don’t hit the ball back”!

(Photo courtesy Getty Images)

Now, mess with my kids and that’s one ball I’ll grab with my hand and throw back at ya- hard enough to bust your nose.  But that’s a different ball game entirely…………

Oh the Joys of Boys

If ever there was a Girly Girl, I was her.  I didn’t start out that way.  It evolved over time.  A fabulously diva-ish older sis whom I always looked up to, and an always put together beautiful mother, my Tom Boy ways slowly but surely vanished away.  Over time, I went from accompanying my father on trips to the hardware store, and playing with the rocks and dirt, to donning hot rollers in my hair, and blowing on my freshly painted finger nails.  I evolved from the “son my father never had” to the prissy captain of the cheerleading squad with flowing blonde hair and the trail of boys who followed.  Labels on my clothing, heels on my shoes, Brad Pitt posters on my walls…  Transformation complete.  Never looked back.

Not in a million, billion, gazillion years did I ever envision myself being the mother of a boy.  Having had no prior experience with boys- no brothers to speak of & the aunt of a perfectly gorgeous niece- when I saw the identity of my own little bambino’s gender show on that small black and white screen, you could have knocked me off of the table with a feather.  What the hell was I going to do with a BOY!?

Once I held him in my arms, I of course embraced it.  “Mommy’s little Boy… ahhh.”   I vowed to work my hardest to grow him into a sensitive, compassionate, SAFE, little man.  He’d be astute, and cautious, proper, courteous, demure even.  Did I mention, safe and cautious?  Oh was my number one priority to keep my new little prince safe!   To the point that I’d sometimes drive myself to the point of hysteria just thinking about all the possible ways he could feel hurt.  The thought pained me to the core.  I denounced the talks of four wheelers, dirt bikes, trampolines, and the like that I’d heard from my husband and his family.  Eleven short months later, along came another little boy.  Me, with two boys!  If there is a god, he or she certainly has got a sense of humor. 

I enjoyed the purchasing of preppy clothing, books, blocks and the like, and remained steadfast in my view of keeping them away from anything potentially dangerous or vulgar as they played in a completely baby proof environment.  There was no budging on this rule.  Even talks of all the mischief my little angel babies would get into, by jokesters in the family, pissed me off. 

Well, just as all things cycle around- so too have I.  That prissy person I’d evolved into has been steadily chipped away at.  Fast forward six years.  I’ve got two little boys that will be turning four and five years old before this Christmas, and sometimes I amaze myself with the gifts I look at for them.  I can’t even help myself.  I want them to embrace life!  Their smiles and laughter because of the joy they get out of living is priceless to me.  Last year, I purchased mini skate boards for them- MYSELF.  The husband couldn’t believe it when I’d brought them home.  The prima donna, sheltered gal who wasn’t ever allowed to jump on a trampoline growing up and never once wore a pair of roller skates actually purchased dangerous skate boards for her little angels?!  Yep, and I also allow them to bounce on my in-laws’ trampoline to their little hearts’ content.  I get excited looking at dirt bikes in Toys R Us, and count the years until they can enjoy the thrills and joys of cruising on one of them themselves.  (In full protective gear, of course.)  I go fishing with them, although I’ll confess I never will place a worm on a hook.  I play the “Nilock” in our pretend games of Power Rangers, running around making monster sounds and hiding in closets and behind nooks and crannies all over the house, waiting to jump out and scare the bejesus out of these boys.  Outdoor games of baseball, football, digging in the sand to find sand crabs.  You name it, I’m probably doing it.  I’ve become a Tom Boy, yet again!  And I love every minute of it.

These are things I’d never be experiencing, if not for these sons of mine.  It’s true what they say- that when you become a parent, you get to relive your childhood all over again.  Only this time, it’s even better!  Oh how I love them, and all of the joy that they continue to bring to me.  And this is why I sigh as my heart leaps with joy, and I say, “Oh, the joys of Boys”!