Disaster 4332

Every once in a while God and Mother Nature hold hands and remind us that we are guests here, both in our physical environment on Earth and in our place in the fabric of time.  We can gather up materials in our surroundings, shape them, paint them, stick them together, and build houses to provide shelter. But we are kidding ourselves if we believe that our engineered infrastructure is any match for the forces of nature.  What cannot be destroyed is the power of humanity to surround, support, and love one another, and that has become so abundantly clear to our family over the last few days.

This monster storm had several names. First depression, then Tropical Storm Harvey, Hurricane Harvey, and now Disaster 4332.  So small and sterile a title for such an enormous catastrophe. If the severity of the disaster is measured in the affected communities' vulnerability and environmental devastation - Disaster 4332 is one of the worst.  In spite of its severity, it is apparently no match for the resilience and determination and love that has proven as prolific as the rain that soaked our homes.

Billy and I have had a few days to reflect on how all of this has affected us, and we have decided that we have come out ahead.  If you measure our experience in losses an gains, it is clearly evident.

Loss:  We are building in Magnolia and plan to finish raising our boys out there, so we moved to an apartment in May of this year, in hopes of selling our home. Clearly the prospect of a home sale, any time soon, has evaporated. We borrowed a couch, table and chairs, a rug, brought our own beds, and packed our suitcases with some clothes and dishes to bring to our apartment.  Unfortunately, we left absolutely everything else we own at our Spring home.  We talked it over and thought it would show better full of our furniture and our things.  We also thought about moving non-furniture items to storage, but thought - hey! this house can be storage, and we are already paying for it. So basically everything on the first floor was ruined. The soft things that didn't get wet, have the stench of mildew and filth soaked in. The clothes are being washed (by beautiful friends), but the furniture and rugs are not salvageable.

Gain: And this is huge ... we have a safe dry place to stay, both for our family and for my parents.  What an amazing blessing that we are not displaced to a hotel. On Monday as we sadly drove away from our flooded homes after trying, at the last minute, to put things up high, we were not at all unsure of where we would go.  We already had a place to stay! At no point during this did I have the stress of worrying about a contingency plan, or whether or not my little ones were safe, or when it was time to go or time to stay.  This is not true for many (if not most) of my friends and neighbors.  So many people have no where else, no one else, and now - nothing to go home to.  Billy and I (except for losing possessions) are business as usual!

Loss:  There was 1-2 feet of water in our home. This means removal and reconstruction of all of the wood floors, cabinets, walls/sheet rock (lower third), appliances, shelving, carpets, and soaked contents. One of the bath tubs came out, the AC was underwater, and some of the electrical has to be redone.  The smell on the first day we returned was unbelievable - but has steadily been improving.

Gain:  Many people flooded up to their roof! We had several items that we moved up to the second floor that are fine.  In hind-sight, I wish I had believed the predictions that we would be underwater by the end of this and moved most everything up there, but I can't go back and undo that now. I can celebrate that my little guys' clothes and pictures and personal items were safe and sound on the second floor and some of our chairs were up there too! I can also take comfort in the fact that sweet friends have offered to help paint and sheet rock and repair once we reach that point.  Our builder has offered to help us in any way he can with his tradesmen.  Our generous parents have offered to help us out with rebuild.  And finally we will probably qualify for a loan from FEMA since we did not have flood insurance, that will lend us what we need to rebuild and then we can pay it back.

Loss: Flood insurance -- sigh.  Oh how I wish I had listened to more than one person who told me I needed it.  It was a nominal cost and easy to get, but I turned my nose up at it, and I have felt the sting of that choice more than once this past week.

Gain: FEMA has made it possible to help other people like us who thought it would happen to everyone else to get help.  It requires that we get flood insurance now, and then provides small business-type loans to get your rebuild going.  Amazing!!

Loss: The labor-intensive and slightly heartbreaking job of demolishing what is left of your home and taking it out to the curb in loads of debris was physically and emotionally draining.

Gain:  People continued to show up for us.  Friends I hadn't clapped eyes on in over a decade bringing boxes and food. Friends who have known less than a year bringing supplies and sustenance.  Dear friends who dropped everything and came and worked.  Old friends who called in favors for us.  Strangers from our church who showed up in droves to clean out our home and offer support.  People brought us food, washed our clothes, fed our volunteers, gave me a shoulder to lean on, checked on us, reached out to us, opened their homes to us, prayed for us, hugged us, bent over backwards for us ... it goes on and on.  Any time I felt the sadness creep in over my things - I was touched by someone who helped bring me back down.  That is just what those are, they are things and that is a house. All can be replaced.  So if you reached out to us and even if I didn't need something at that moment, your call or text or fb message was uplifting, heartwarming and deeply appreciated.

Loss: Billy's foot was injured on Friday while working on our home, so he has some limitations now for working on the repairs.

Gain: It looked to be a lot worse than it was, and there is no concern for loss of function.  Also, I have a work family who offered love and support and a whole lot of prayer for us while we waited to hear more.  They checked on us, prayed hard for us, and continue to pour out support.  And for that, I am truly grateful.

In the end, we came out ahead.  Disaster 4332 has been a gentle reminder for us about what is most important,  what our job is with the time we have here, and ultimately will make us better human beings.  To the friends who continue to offer help, I can never repay your kindness.  Please know that however small the gesture felt from your side of things, it was felt so enormously from mine. God has been good to us, we see that so clearly.

St. Louis, Here We Come!

Mr. Carpenter - Maybe you were an all-star for 2013 and 2014, maybe you were the recipient of the National League’s Silver Slugger award, maybe you lead the league in doubles and base hits in 2013, but you know you’ve really made it when you are somebody’s birthday theme. We tried to go with just generic Cardinal’s theme but Luke insisted on a Matt Carpenter birthday party.  I thought about getting a cake with Mr. Carpenter’s face printed on it – but somehow cutting into that cake was less appealing. So we settled on a folded jersey.

Luke greeted his friends, swallowed his lunch whole, and got down to the business of recruiting people for a game of backyard baseball. No need for musical chairs, a piñata, or pin the tail on the donkey – all we needed was a set of bases, a bat and a ball and we had 2 solid hours of pure bliss for the birthday boy. We had a wardrobe change after lunch – jersey from Matt Carpenter was first, and official Cardinal’s jersey from Gram for the game.  He solicited the help of a deep-voiced friend for walk-up announcements and took his turn on offense, defense, as the ump and in the crowd.

We are bringing little Luke and his sweet brother Andrew to St. Louis this weekend for the Sunday/Monday games.  (Ben is home with Grandma and Grandpa).  We are embarking on a (long) road trip from Texas for the chance to see our hero warming up and playing in person. The universe tried to scare us off – but riots and weather are no match for our burning desire to just be in the stadium.  So Cardinals fans, here we come – we can’t wait to watch the game we love and the player we adore right in the heart of Cardinal Nation.   Good luck #13, you’ll have one hopelessly dedicated and especially little fan pulling for you Sunday and Monday!

Go Cards!

We love you, Matt Carpenter

Meet Luke.  

His love for Matt Carpenter is an unlikely affection in more than one way.  First of all, we do not, nor have we ever, lived any where in or around St. Louis.  We are in Texas (near Matt's hometown actually). I'll be honest and say that I had not ever heard of Matt Carpenter until I turned on our TV one day to show Luke "baseball on TV" (more on that later).  Secondly, he became a fan mid-season - before the rumblings about the post-season were in full swing. Little did we know we would be rooting for our hero in the World Series.  And finally he is 4.  Sure, you say, kids are fans.  But four-year-olds kids change heroes like they change underwear.  Luke's adoration is unfailing. 

When we play baseball in the back yard, he is always Matt Carpenter first. (He usually cycles through the other Matt's that play for the cards and some Rangers mixed in after but MC is always first).  He is in a little baseball clinic on Friday nights and when they play practice games at the end, while the other kids are tossing their gloves in the air and drawing shapes in the turf, Luke is narrating.  "Matt Carpenter steps up to the plate, runners on first and third, here comes an RBI for Matt Carpenter!"  The only time he changes character is when they send him to first and he tells us he is switching to Matt Adams.  Or, at home when he puts on his osh kosh shirt that has a 7 on it, he is Matt Holiday - he asked me Friday morning why don't they make shirts with 13's on them?  He was Matt Carpenter for Halloween - and despite staunch opposition was forced to wear a Rangers shirt with his St. Louis hat, because the Cards jersey I ordered was wayyy too big. We tear open baseball card packs - dying to get a Matt Carpenter card - the closest we have gotten is Molina - which delighted Luke - but not the same. My brother sent him a Cardinals hat, and of course, what was the first thing he said? "A Cardinals hat!! So I can be Matt Carpenter!"

He watched the Cards all the way through the series religiously and kept up with Matt's batting average and OPS. Not a person in our family is a Cards fan - although that has all changed. Our love of St. Louis is somewhat sac religious.  My brother (Luke's Uncle Bob), the other person in our family who eats, sleeps,  and breathes baseball is a die-hard Rangers fan - those who know, see what a conflict of interests this is. 

We use Matt as we train him up in character.  "Would Matt Carpenter never let his friends go first?" "Does Matt Carpenter throw a fit when he doesn't make a catch?"  (if your are half as decent of a person we have made you out to be, you are a saint). Luke found out that it was Matt Carpenter's birthday the other day and his head almost exploded.  

For the few people that keep up with this blog and for the rest of our close friends & family - you already know of Luke's love of the game.  It is a genuine love of all things baseball - and it begins again every morning as the sun comes up.  More often then not, it is the first thing we talk about when we get up and the last thing we talk about when we go to bed.  I turned on the TV one time early summer to show him the "big boys" playing baseball on TV and suddenly, I found myself recording games so he could watch in the morning instead of cartoons.  I learned the hard way (we missed a huge grand slam) to extend the recording.  I've said it before and I will say it again - people tell me all the time, " yeah, our kids like baseball too" and I just smile and nod.  I know in my mind, it is not likely the same. Luke's love of baseball in a rudimentary form began around 9 months and steady grew from there. Below I have compiled a number of video clips that only begin to illustrate this progression right up until this past Friday, when we took him to the cages for the first time and he was making contact with balls being pitched around 40 mph.  My brother was in town for Thanksgiving and Luke couldn't wait to see him and play ball with him.  Thank goodness for his kindred spirit.

So, Matt, if you read this - know that there is a little four year old boy in Houston, Texas (who's a pretty decent little player), and he thinks you hung the moon.  He looks up to you, he believes in you, he wants to be just like you. Thanks for, up to this point, being someone I am delighted to have my little one love.  And my guess is now for fielding practice Luke will no longer want to be a second baseman - third base will probably look pretty good to him.

The Very Beginning

Catch with Momma

An Experiment in Throwing

Window Baseball

First Major League Game

A Matt Carpenter Halloween

Batting Practice

In the cages

Happy Halloween

The boys wanted to be baseball players this year - how easy is that? Thanks to my brother, we basically had all of the gear - all I needed was $7 pants, a $3 belt, and a $2 tube of eye black.  Andrew started hinting around last night about being a football player (which made me panic a bit - where am I going to get a football costume to fit him in 11 hours) but it lost its luster (thankfully) and he was back on the bandwagon!

The boys were ecstatic to dress up in their "uniforms" and trick or treat.  We have come so far from the ding-dong, run & cry trick-or-treating that we did the first few years we were doing this.  The boys got an obscene amount of candy, had fun with their friends, and Ben (our goldfish - Thank You! Angela) slept through the whole thing.

Luke, was a little disappointed that there was not baseball game to go to, so he made sure and tell me while we were getting him into bed, that he would put on his baseball uniform again tomorrow and we could "play first thing in the morning, even though the grass will be wet."

Happy Halloween!

What Happened to Ben

There I was, stuffed up underneath a wall-mounted counter top with a fluorescent reading light beating down on me.  There were two white hospital towels neatly draped from the even smaller wall-mounted counter top above. They were secured with two piles of dirty laundry in a vain attempt to shield the light from flooding the entire room.  The laundry pile, in recent days, has had a way of growing in such a way that at times, I wondered if it might be alive.  But now that dirty pile lies still, not an item added to it since 8 o'clock last night.  And the silence in the room was so beautiful, that I found myself typing as softly as I could, so that I didn't break it.

One of the 14 doctors we had seen during our hospital stay had just tiptoed in the room. She whispered the same routine questions that all of the other doctors had asked, but she had a propensity for thumbs-up gesturing.  As I answered her, I began to get the feeling I was winning at some game.  "How is Ben eating?" Just fine. (thumbs up)  "How do his incisions look?" They look great! (thumbs up) "Is he in any pain?" I glanced over at his bed, his eyes were tightly shut and he was snoring  - Doesn't look like it to me (thumbs up) "Are you feeling better now that he can eat" I paused for a moment.  The question irritated me.  How should I answer that? No, I liked it better when he was clawing and screaming and wanting to eat and you told me that his condition was not emergent enough to bring in a surgical crew until the morning.  I felt better when I was rocking him and kissing his sweaty face as he coughed and gagged as he vomited repeatedly over the last 11 hours.  I felt better when I was begging for comfort and peace and sleep for him and strength for me.  What kind of question is that?  But I managed a "yes" instead and got another thumbs up.  It occurred to me that 3 days ago I had no idea what was coming - if you had told me on Monday that by Wednesday I would be checking email from the 11th floor of the west tower at TCH, I would have called you a liar.

The Beginning

Monday afternoon I was getting the boys' supper ready.  They were at the table impatiently playing with their place mats and already bargaining with me about how much supper they would have to eat in exchange for sweets.  Ben was in his swing and getting restless.  I decided since he had just eaten a bit ago, I had better go get him first and then finish getting the boys' plates ready.  I don't move around very fast these days because 2 weeks after I gave birth to Ben, I broke my foot, neat.  And then a few days later wound up with a clot in my calf vein and was started on meds to fix that problem.  Just when you thought it couldn't get crazier, a whole new problem emerged.

While I was doling out pecans and raisins I had Ben slung up over my shoulder.  Without any warning, he threw up across my shoulder and onto the stove behind me.  The noise was as unsettling as the volume.  The boys at the table both panicked.  But I kept my cool.  In my head I thought, well I guess that is what I get for putting him in the swing to soon after he ate.  The next bottle I fed him only half of his volume, 2 oz.  We had our glorious night time routine (bath, swaddling, rocking chair, and bed) and Billy and I resigned ourselves to the couch for some downtime and football.  At about midnight we heard Ben squawking.  It was a very disturbing sound.  We both ran in and found him lying in a puddle of vomit. He was soaked.  There was so much - my heart started to pound.  When I laid him on the changing table he vomited again and this time choked on it.  He turned blue and then a little gray and I told Billy to call the neighbor to come over and turn on the car.  I suctioned his mouth and waited for him to pink up ... which he did thank the lord.  But by then I knew ... something was wrong. We threw things in bags and ran him out to the car seat to load him up.  We dashed off to the ER and checked in with only 3 other people waiting (a total relief to me as I had envisioned us waiting for hours to be seen).  We were sitting in triage and I told the nurse my story.  They took his temp and weighed him and then said they will call you back as soon as they have a room and we will get to the bottom of this "spitting up."  I wanted to correct her, but I didn't have to.  Almost on cue Ben vomited again. This time he was in Billy's arms and it went all over Ben's face and chest.  They rushed us to the back and did a saline wash on Ben's eyes and then directed us to a room.  

Answers

The nurse and doctor both took turns coming in and hearing out my story.  And then I got the speech.  I knew it was coming and I was dreading it.  Mostly I was dreading my reaction to it.  The speech started to roll off the doctors tongue and it was dripping with condescension. " Babies spit up, and you probably think it was a lot, but really it takes very little fluid to look like a lot." As I reigned in the disdain I suddenly felt for this man I reminded myself that getting upset does no good.  I politely reminded him that I was a nurse and that I knew about this speech, I had even given it before.  But that this was no spit up.  This was exorcist-style projectile vomit.  He basically told us it could be reflux, pyloric stenosis or a stomach bug and his money was on the latter. There were apparently no radiologists available to rule out the first two and so he told us to go home with a zofran prescription and slow down on feeding him so much.  Furious, I gathered up our stuff and took him home.  I called the pedi at 630 am and told him what was going on (by this time Ben wasn't even keeping down pedialyte and he was sleeping way to much).  Our pedi (who I LOVE by the way) directed us right back to the ER.  We were evaluated and sent to radiology immediately.  Ben had had nothing to eat since 2am that morning besides about 2 collective ounces of pedialyte spread out over several hours.  When the ultrasound tech showed me his stomach, I was completely floored.  It was full of fluid.  She took a few pictures and slipped out of the room.  The doctor came bursting in - "well, he has pyloric stenosis, we called you an ambulance and we need to get fluids running - surgery in the morning."  Billy and I looked at each other and both picked up our phones to start making plans for a trip downtown. 

We rode downtown in a shoddy ambulance and took the Hardy which basically feels like you are driving on railroad tracks.  While we were driving I kept thinking to myself, really?  Have a baby, and then break your foot, really? and THEN find out you have a DVT in your calf - really? and THEN your newborn needs surgery - really?"  And just when I was ready to kick off a big fat pity party - we arrived at Texas Children's ER.  All of a sudden all my worry and disappointment with my circumstances evaporated.  I was here with a sweet baby boy who had an unfortunate condition that was totally curable.  I have a husband and two darling boys at home who are all completely healthy.  I had no business having a pity party.  The things I saw waiting in that ER horrified me.  Its like all of these awful things are happening to children everywhere but in your daily life you escape the sadness of it because you don't have to see it.  Here it was for me to see - raw and heartbreaking.  A little girl with no hair crying and vomiting.  A little boy they rushed in to the burn room who was moaning and his mother was screaming.  

After the usual questions they ushered Ben and I to a room to wait for the surgery team to come talk to us. I felt guilty that I was grateful to escape the scenes in the ER.  Those people didn't have the option to escape it was their reality.  Their terribly sad, hideously unfair reality.  

Misery

By this time Ben had been without food for an absurd amount of time. He was screaming and sweating and coughing and gagging and I was on the brink of meltdown.  After 3 hours of him crying he finally exhausted himself fell asleep.  Literally 4 minutes later, they came in to have me sign paperwork and transfer us upstairs.  My heart sank.  He would wake up for sure and I would be faced with consoling him with a pacifier which wasn't working and I didn't know if I could take it.  I knew it was 4 minutes because I had begun to watch the clock religiously - counting down the hours, the minutes until surgery.  I pleaded with them (in whisper voice) to give us 30 minutes so he could at least get some rest.  They graciously agreed.  I won't go into details about the rest of the night - it was more of the same.  I don't really want to relive it - it goes against everything that is good and natural about being a parent to not allow your baby to eat. Every time I start to think about it, I try not to let my brain go there.  Once was enough. 

The Fix

In the morning they came to do labs at five and told me that they would add Ben on the surgery schedule today and hoped to get him in before noon.  I came unglued.  I had been surviving all night on the auspices that we would be first in line and that I would be feeding Ben by nine.  After my outburst our nurse went to call the surgical team.  They came to get us shortly thereafter.  Relief is not the right word, it is not big enough.  I met the surgeon who told me about the procedure and showed me to the waiting room.  I was given a tracking number for Ben and there were monitors all over the waiting room that showed the status of your tracking number.  So, at any given time you knew where your little one was.  Brilliant.  When I was not watching the monitor intently, I was taking in the sadness around me.  It was almost as though I was forcing myself to be immersed in it, to stockpile the support I needed to keep my pity party at bay.  In walked a little girl in pj's and a mask.  She had a pink bandanna to cover her bald head.  She was clutching a panda that looked like it had helped her through more than one surgery.  She sat with her parents and they talked and laughed.  Oddly enough the thing that struck me as the most sad is that when she was laughing you could only see her eyes (because of the mask) and I thought how sad for her parents that they don't even get to enjoy her laugh fully.  In some ways I wish that we all had t-shirts in that waiting room that told our situation. "my child has cancer and my stress level is maxed out"  "my child has bilateral cleft lip and palette and this is our first of many surgeries and I have no idea what to expect."  I was so curious about every one's story.  I decided mine would say "my child is, overall, pretty healthy and for that I am immensely grateful"

They called me back to recovery and just like that it was over.  Ben's problem was fixed and we were on the road to recovery.  I became acutely aware of how lucky I am to live in a time when an otherwise fatal condition was repaired with a routine 30 minute laproscopic surgery.  Three tiny incisions and some surgical glue and all of our worries completely disappeared.  100 years ago, Ben would have continued to vomit and lose weight and then eventually his electrolytes would have been out of balance there would have been no hope.  Again, so thankful to have landed at this point of the timeline. 

When it was time to go home we unceremoniously collected our things. We gathered up our peaceful baby and took our quiet ride down the elevator to the parking garage.  Our adventure was over and it was time go back to our life as we knew it.  Our totally delightful, largely uneventful life.  Again relief seems too small of a word for this moment.  

Thanks to everyone who has helped us through this - our parents especially and our friends and families.  Billy and I continue to be amazed by how giving our friends and family are.  I have hardly cooked a meal in 3 weeks.  We have had no trouble with arrangements for our other boys.  

My littlest boy is home and in his bed.  He is soundly asleep and that delights me.  And with my cast propped up on the coffee table and all three monitors humming quietly behind me, I am racking my brain for a time that I felt more blessed - and I am absolutely drawing a blank.

Sick Ben

After the IV

Headed downtown

In the Ambulance

Recovery

Two tired boys

Ben's Bed

Feeling better!

Below are a few pictures that the surgeon shared with me - if you are squeamish - do NOT scroll down!

Easter

BOO!! I totally thought I would be better about posting this year - so far I am underwhelming myself.  Here is Easter none-the-less and with any luck will have a birthday post for the boys before the summer is over.

Here is what I remember about dying Easter eggs as a kid:

1.) it is an impossible amount of time from when you drop the tablet in the water or vinegar until the little pellet melts.
2.) The pictures on the outside of the dye kits, are in no way a representation of the colors that the eggs actually turn out to be.
3.) The monocle-looking, copper, "gently-lowers-the-egg-into-the-water" tool - is not built to sustain the weight of a hard boiled egg.  Invariably caves under the egg's weight and the egg promptly sinks in the water, spilling dye on the table (which oddly colors the table a lot more quickly and vibrantly then the egg) and then when you make egg salad 3 days later, it is purple tinted because your egg was cracked.

Now-a-days:
See above. That's right almost nothing has changed - except in the spirit of modern-day mediocrity, there are stickers and embellishments that don't stick to the eggs and wax crayons that have almost no ability to color on an eggshell. But nevertheless, my boys love it!

Egg dying is serious work!

Egg colors from left to right: Electric Blue, Vibrant Green & Fuschia - give me a break!

Two-timing!

I love these chubby arms!!

But the real meat and potatoes of the holiday is finding plastic Easter eggs, hidden in obvious places all over the ranch yard, filled with pennies and the occasional jelly bean.  It sounds so innocuous - but the excitement was contagious. Sure I was snapping pics, but I felt five year old me yelling GO GET SOME JELLY-BEANS! Here are a few pics but the still shots didn't do the elation justice.

Yep, they make sports eggs - Yay Capitalism!

Every boy in this photo has jelly beans in their mouths!

A Mother of Boys

So this post will be a bit cliche, but it will hit home with my friends who are mothers of boys.  And surely there are exceptions - there will be those that can't identify with what I am saying - but based on the casual conversations that I have had with both beloved friends and family and passer-bys, the general consensus is something as follows.

The older I get and the more experience I gain at being a mother of boys (or a MOB if you are trendy) the more I realize that there is a role for me to play.  It is a role that fits comfortably on me. I never shirk my duties in this role, I welcome them and in fact seek out opportunities to excel at them.  I am really good at the things that comprise this role, so good, in fact, that I would be hard pressed to write a resume detailing these strengths, as I could go on and on about them.  I can calm a sad boy down, clean up a scraped knee with the bo-bo baseball, I can cuddle and rub backs and read stories and do flash cards, I can be a referee, explain the rules, quiet the shouting, wipe the noses, change the diapers, make the beds, check the closets, turn on the night lights, throw the pitches, wipe the tears, comb the hair, say the prayers, sing the lullabies, scare off the thunder, rush to the nightmares and gather boys up in my arms to adore.

Here's what I stink at.

I don't like dirt. I don't like danger. I don't like wrestling and rough play. I don't like bodily noises. I don't like bugs. I don't like daredevil stunts. I don't like chaos or destruction or weapons. Daddy loves these things and the boys do too.  You can't make the argument that the affinity for these things are learned as many of them have shown up with no introduction.  We did not teach the boys that rubbing dirt in your hair is interesting and fun or that building a tower to "blow it up" is a neat game.  Luke has trouble running by his brother without doing what we call a "drive by" where he discretely taps the middle of Andrew's back or pushes him slightly - just to push buttons.  They look forward to playing rough and wrestling with Daddy with Christmas-like anticipation.  We do different things with the boys and their dynamic is different around me than it is around Daddy. And, well, that delights me.

People who say that boys and girls aren't wired differently are insane. And I challenge you to observe 3 year old boys and girls in a setting together and tell me there is no difference.  The girls are wrapping up their baby dolls and pretending to make supper at the play oven and the boys are destroying things and making weapons out of pipe cleaners and puzzle pieces.  Yes, there are fundamental similarities, and yes, there are exceptions to this - but I feel confident in saying that little boys are wild. I get such a kick out of sharing stories with other MOBs as we nod our heads knowingly in agreement about how crazy our little boys are, and then we laugh to ourselves about you mothers of girls and how life is quiet now ... but oh, those teen years, they are a-coming.

Billy and I always say that we meet different needs for our boys and I like that.  I like that I know what I love to do as a MOB and I like that Daddy is responsible for the things I can't handle.  All of the books I read on bringing up boys talk about the need for energy exertion and bouts of aggression.  Boys love danger. There is no getting around it.  We laugh at the ad on TV right now the "don't tell Mom" ad because in our house there are things we don't talk about - and that is expected.  I don't want to hear about how "daddy let me get up on the roof" or "we built a fire and daddy and grandpa jim let me get really close until my pants were hot" - because the bottom line is I trust Billy and I know that he is making good decisions about their safety and there are things that will be sacred between those three and I will sleep better not knowing.

So I'm smiling to myself tonight as I am sorting laundry and it reeks of smoke and filth that I am a mother of a boy, confident in my role, and hopelessly devoted to all of my boys.

This is how we spend time with Mommy ... helping make Daddy some strawberry cupcakes for Valentine's Day (aren't they charming and clean?)!

And this is how we spend time with daddy ... scaling a house-sized, dirt hill in 50 degree weather with short sleeves!