Boy oh Boy

Sometimes I can't believe I'm a mom to three boys, one of which counts for two.

How did ultra feminine me wind up with these tornadoes of energy?

I count my blessings.

I love when they run to me after a day of playing outside with their sweaty little foreheads and that dirty smell that is oh so sweet to me.

I love the "pew, pew, pew" that bounces through my thoughts, hour after hour, day after day, as Wyatt fights his "guys," fends off Ashton, or just finds a stick.

I love the crazy immagination -- moseying around town becomes a race with each and every car on the road. Bugs are playthings. Trees are forts. The neighbors are droids.

Their fascination with numbers goes against all my natural capabilities. Why do they care what comes after a gojillion? Does it matter if ten ten times is more minutes in a day then they are awake? Is one gold dollar really more valuable than five paper ones?

Even the gross things have lightened our family and injected humor over the drama. When two-year-old Wyatt proudly announces, "I burbed," I know there is some innately boy stuff going on. Ashton knows there's some naughtiness which sends him into peals of laughter.

But with boys comes disgusting toilets....and teasing.

"Ruby, everytime you leave your purse on the floor I step on it as hard as I can."
Thanks Cade.

Lucky for me I also get trash removal, and lawn care (GO CADE!), and they carry in my groceries, and clean up after Primary and take my stuff to the car.

I love these boys of mine. And as I held Wyatt this morning and rubbed lotion all over his poor eczema covered legs and then Ashton curled up next to me and rested his head on my arm, I shut my eyes and tried to freeze frame the moment so I will always remember the perfect, perfect world that was mine for today.