About Boys...

Most times when I go out with the boys I get at least one stop from some sweet onlooker who says,
"All boys, huh?"

I don't know what they're implying with this comment because taking it at face value kind of makes me want to say in my most sarcastic & snarky tone, 

"Um...1, 2, 3, 4.... what?!  Holy... where did that extra one come from!"

So instead I usually smile at them with my little flock of wild things running laps around the vicinity and say proudly, "Yep!  All boys!"

I think people assume my life is constant crazy and filled with longing for a little pink bundle.  In truth - it's quite the opposite.  I'm so very content and aware of the blessing these little men are.  They ooze the stuff of life.  They're happy and healthy and growing and curious and full of the most delicious kind of trouble.  I love being their Mom.  I actually pleaded to the Heavens for little "Dennis the Menace" boys of my very own.  And I'm sure our years of yearning for any babies helps me keep perspective most days, but truly, you have never been loved unless you're a mama who has been loved by her sons.

I'm lumping mine all together here - but since 3/4s of them came basically all at once - it seems acceptable to do so.  These little men are fearless, limitless, high energy and full of a hunger for life and adventure that is completely admirable.  Spending my days with them is equal parts exhausting and exhilarating.  Raising boys is something you experience full on and not kind of dabble in.  I love it and I love each of their beautifully wild faces and tireless souls.  They inspire me with their reckless abandon and their belief that nothing is "too hard" or "too dangerous" or "too embarrassing".  Everything in their life can be conquered - they firmly believe and practice that idea every day and they get to do it with their best friends in the form of brothers.

Sometimes that imagination and exuberance requires some redirection and that is also a mandatory part of our daily life around here.  But man, for the most part, as they're living full speed ahead outside, we try to give a lot of freedom to churn through all that "fuel" that seems to be created with their every move.  And let me tell you this... having sons helps me understand why there are so many professional sports.  Do it!  Climb that!  Exert yourself!  Burn that energy!  SCORE!  WIN!

It's also made me a firm believer of group think.  You know, what one of them says "happened" the others immediately jump onboard and confirm that yes, that is indeed how it all went down to the very last detail.  This is particularly common when I ask questions like, "Who made this mess in the bathroom?" and one of them replies with a confident, "Oh it must have been Boone."  It's amazing the speed with which the other two confirm this as the truth and only the truth so help them God.

We had our first knock down- drag out - punches thrown - tackles made - wrestling moves exerted - fight last week on the front lawn.  You guys, it was epic.  I was shocked there was no blood.  I yelled at them to stop as I pulled them off of one another, then I told them they weren't welcome in the house until the yard was cleaned up and everyone was friends again.  Half hour later they came in asking what was for dinner as if nothing even happened.  And truly they probably don't remember it happening at all.  It was just another one of life's squabbles that once over was part of history and let's be real - they were starving.

And oh, the stories we are collecting on this band of brothers to tell at family holiday gatherings, graduation parties, and wedding dinners some day.  Stories like the time they found a can of yellow spray paint, stripped to their undies and made one another Minions - along with the walls of the shed (yeah - that happened).  Stories about late night parties in Grandma & Grandpa's bunk room when someone learned he could puncture soda cans with his teeth and he generously did so for everyone and they were all in there partying "champagne victory style" alerting us only after the giggles became too loud and too prevalent at almost midnight (there are still random soda spray stickies to be found on light fixtures, etc.)  Stories of pulled fire alarms in the church, or broken toothpicks in the ignition of the truck, or flooded sandboxes x a million and twelve, or permanent marker tiger stripes painted on little faces.  We'll shake our heads and grin and remember when they were all just a little gang of rough and tumbles that ran on HIGH.

And I'll stare at my tall, grown up boys with wild hearts and wish they were little fellers full of spit and vinegar again - if just for a day - to hear them giggle together like wild hyenas.