you can't have love, only toys

My birthday was last week. Due to certain circumstances, we weren't able to really celebrate it until a few days later. This was difficult for Jem. Like any young child, he becomes very excited by the idea of a birthday. The day of my birthday he kept reminding me that we needed to celebrate. We needed a cake and presents. It was really sweet. I told him that we would be celebrating on Sunday night with his grandparents. He seemed content with that answer.
Later, however, he again reminded me that we hadn't done anything for my birthday. He told me that I should bake myself a cake with marshmallows because he really likes marshmallows. And then he asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I told him that I wanted a hug and a kiss from him. He gave me both and we then had this conversation:

Jem: But what do you really want mommy? Maybe you want a new game item. (this was referencing his leapster and the game cartridges it uses)
Me: I don't think so buddy.
Jem: Then what do you want?
Me: I just want hugs and kisses.
Jem: (fairly exasperated) Mommy, you can't have love for your birthday. Birthdays aren't for love they are for toys, only toys.

Apparently, the concern over my birthday celebration had nothing to do with me. Instead, it was all about his ill-conceived idea that I would be getting toys for my birthday that he would be able to play with. Needless to say, he was very disappointed.


photo by .shann  http://www.flickr.com/photos/shnnsayangdia/2818525884/

fool me once...

Apparently, Truett is potty-trained. Who knew? Certainly not me. I've been sporadically having him wear big-boy underwear and the results have been mixed. And yes, I know that switching him back and forth from diapers to underwear isn't the best plan. But the thought of dealing with a complete outfit change at the park, while trying to keep an eye on the other two kids, is overwhelming.
 But today, I decided that it was time to bite the bullet and send him to school in underwear. I packed an extra set of clothes for him and made him use the potty right before we left.  Then, when we got to school I had him tell his teachers that he was wearing underwear, like it was something super special. And his teacher turned to me and said, "Oh, he uses the potty all the time."
What?! The kid peed in his pants two times on Monday and again yesterday. But he uses the potty at school? All the time?
So apparently he is potty-trained, just not at home. Why is he peeing in his pants at home? Is he marking his territory? Is he trying to punish me for all of the time-outs? Does he just assume that it is okay to pee in his pants at home because Mommy will take care of it?
His teacher told me they've been wondering why I've been sending him to school in diapers. It's because I've been outsmarted by a three-year old.

fashion tips from Homer

I'm scared that by signing on to be a mom I unknowingly purchased a ticked to frumpville. I'm worried that people will be able to tell I have children just by looking at me. Granted, I'm not putting in a lot of effort most of the time but what's the point? I'm going to be spending my entire day with preschoolers. It doesn't exactly call for my best outfit. But I don't want to be frumpy or dowdy.
It started so subtly. I would make the decision to pull my hair up because it saved me time in the morning which meant a few more minutes of sleep, also known as one of the most wonderful things ever. Then, I started wearing sweatpants because I'm not going anywhere and why shouldn't I be comfortable? I started driving the hated mini-van and singing along to veggie tales. And then there were more pregnancies and my pre-pregnancy body took longer and longer to come back. I discovered why they call it a muffin top and started walking past the cute bikinis in the store telling my kids that they "ruined mommy's body and now she has to wear swimsuits with more fabric than bedsheets."
This is a day when I'm unhappy with myself. A day when feeling pretty again feels like the biggest thing in the world. It's not. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter at all. 
I believe that women are made to reflect beauty and that we do so by being who we were meant to be. We reflect beauty to others when we are content with who we are and comfortable in our own skin. My skin has changed and I'm still trying to adapt to it. To shift my idea of what makes me beautiful. Some days I do alright and other days, like today, I want to cry, eat a big bowl of ice cream and just give up and start wearing mumus a la Homer Simpson.


photo by betty...a  http://www.flickr.com/photos/bettyyy/2372951931/

it's starting already

Sam and I have talked before about what our boys will be like in high school. We have decided that Jem will either be oblivious to girls or he will be completely awkward around them. Truett, on the other hand, will have girls swarming around him like bees and he will milk every second of it. And it has already started.
There is a little girl in Tru's class at preschool who noticed him the very first day. We stood outside of the classroom waiting for the door to open and she walked up and stood right in front of him. She then copied every move he made. He took his coat off and so did she. He walked back up the stairs and she followed. She would maneuver herself to be closer to him. And apparently, it paid off. Just last Thursday his teacher told me that there is a budding romance. She didn't give me details but she said that they play together and that Tru is very sweet with Sara*.
There is a part of me that thinks it is really cute. And there is a part of me that wonders if Tru would benefit from being in a friendship with a girl who may be more likely to follow directions and listen. And then there is a part of me that is scared to death about this boy and what it will be like to navigate the whole girl/boy relationship thing with him as he grows up. Will I do a good enough job of teaching him to respect girls? Will I be able to teach him to see them as people and not objects? And what will I do when he brings home a girl that I don't like? I have no plans to be a mom who thinks that no one is good enough for her boy. I am well aware of who Truett is and I have a feeling that the right girl could do wonders for him. But I also know that finding the right person can take some trial and error and I want to handle that with grace. Thankfully, I have a couple of years before I really have to start thinking about that stuff. For now, I can just enjoy the cuteness of this little girl who has decided that my crazy, wild dragon is her prince in disguise.

*not her real name

photo by LR Monkeytoes/Lisa  http://www.flickr.com/photos/lrmonkeytoes/496905686/

inner primate

Tonight at dinner, Jem asked, "What's a soul?"
The question came out of left field and I started to answer but then stumbled a little. I had started to say that it was the part of us that went to live with Jesus in heaven when we died but we haven't really talked too much about death yet so I wasn't sure I wanted to start that conversation. Thankfully, Jem answered his own question.
"Is it the good stuff in my heart?" We agreed with that description but he wasn't done. "Like the candy and the gorillas?"
Why does my kid think that he has gorillas in his heart? Candy I get. Both of my boys are in love with candy, as are most kids. But gorillas? And then he wanted to know what kind of animals we had in our hearts. It was like a psychology test or something. And we failed. We didn't know that we were supposed to tell him that we, too, have gorillas in our hearts. According to Jem, everyone has gorillas in their hearts. Just thought you might want to know about your inner primate.  


photo by l.e.t.  http://www.flickr.com/photos/les-enfants-terribles/2918415676/

my stupid problem

Every once in while I get some time without any kids. A grandparent will take them out for lunch or to the market and I'll find myself with an hour or two of freedom. I will be overwhelmed with gratitude and then I will begin my transformation into a chicken without its head. You can ask Sam. Suddenly I'm running around flapping my hands, completely flustered because I only have two hours and what should I do with my two hours? Do I go to the book store and sit and read? Do I go and look for a new pair of sandals since my flip-flops are looking a little ragged? Do I stay home and clean because I know I'll be able to rip through it since there won't be any need to stop? Do I drive in my car and play real music cranked up at a high volume? Do I take a nap? See. Chicken without a head. But those two hours are so precious that the thought of wasting them makes me want to cry. And I get overwhelmed with the possibilities and usually end up doing one thing while thinking the entire time about how maybe I should have done something else. Am I the only one who does this? I wonder if other moms, given some time alone, are just as apt to be confused about what to do with themselves. Are they overwhelmed by the freedom or are they better able to handle it? It's like my inner two-year old comes out and I just run around yelling and bumping into things. I am not normal.


photo by Jacob...K  http://www.flickr.com/photos/jacobkrejci/3304454742/

annoying

The other night I was in the presence of someone who rubs me the wrong way for various reasons. I'm convinced that other people feel the same way about him. How could they not? But as I was complaing about him in my head I had a new thought. I am not the authority on who is annoying and who isn't, and maybe while I'm sitting there thinking bad thoughts about him, someone else is sitting there thinking bad thoughts about me. Maybe I'm their annoying person. A series of haiku was called for. Okay, not really but it seemed like a fun way to write about it.

He irritates me

Arrogance personified

Please, please stop talking

Do you feel the same?

You must! He's so bothersome.

Surely you agree

Wait! You don't agree?

You find me irritating?

Oh. This is awkward.





photo by tcumaniac http://www.flickr.com/photos/53830816@N06/5571816598/

confession

I changed my schedule around today. Normally, I feed Caia her bottle and mushed up pears at noon. While she eats, the boys run around and play by themselves. I then make lunch for the them and for myself, and, by the time we are finished eating, it is one o'clock and time for tv shows to start. 
It would be easier to have all of us eat at the same time. I am more than capable of eating a peanut butter and honey sandwich with one hand while I hold her bottle with the other. But there is a reason that I don't feed everyone at noon and here it is, here is my confession:

I feed my boys at 12:30 because if I fed them at noon, I would have one more half-hour in my day to figure out what to do with them (i.e. play with them). And by the time 12:30 rolls around I am already feeling burnt out and playing is the last thing on my mind.

But today, I decided to stop being an awful, self-centered person and change things up a bit. As reflected in some recent posts, I have been struggling with Tru's behavior lately. And I started to wonder how much of his bad behavior is tied into how little one-on-one time he has with me. I'm pretty sure a good bit of it has to do with his age, but I'm also pretty sure that my little dragon craves attention and will do anything to get it. So today I fed everyone at the same time and then I played with my boys. And when 1 o'clock rolled around I asked them if they were ready for shows and Tru said, "Not yet Mommy." This is a child who will do anything for shows and in that response, I saw how much he has been longing for my attention. Like I said, I'm an awful person. But at least I'm working on it. That has to count for something.

Update:

Tonight at dinner, Sam asked the boys what the best part of their day was. Jem told him about finding one of my hair-ties during nap time and getting to wear it on his wrist. Truett talked about painting, which we didn't even do. Did anyone mention playing pillow monster with Mommy or our fabulous game of Simon Says? Nope. I lost out to an elastic hair-tie and an activity that didn't even occur. Such is my life.

it's like this

I am not into politics. And by that, I don't mean that I don't vote or follow the candidates. I simply mean that I really don't enjoy talking about it. I cringe whenever my hubby brings it up during dinner conversation with other people. It seems to be one of those topics that brings out a lot of emotion in people and causes us to revert to playground antics of calling names and throwing things. So typically it isn't something that I would even consider writing about. But then Hilary Rosen said, “Guess what, (Romney’s) wife has actually never worked a day in her life," talking about Ann Romney's role as a stay-at-home-mom. Hilary has since apologized for the comment but it struck a nerve.
What is it that people think stay-at-home mom's do? Eat bon-bons while we watch soap operas? Sleep in till 10am and spend the day in our pajamas? I can't eat bon-bons because one of the dragons would discover them and then they would want some and then there wouldn't be any bon-bons left and I would have a sugared-up preschooler. And by the time 10am rolls around I've already gotten three kids up and dressed, fed them, washed the dishes, read eight books, played four games of candy land, fought a battle against evil pirates in the backyard, broken up three fights, set the timer for three time-outs, juggled a baby on one hip while chasing a three year old around the house, and kissed about four boo-boos. If I'm lucky, I found time to take a potty break and if I'm really, really lucky I actually got to do it by myself.
I don't know what it is like to be a working mother. I do know what it is like to spend the entire day, every day, with a four-year old who is a perfectionist and is in the whining stage. I know what it is like to spend every day with a three-year old who pretends that I'm speaking a language he doesn't know so that he can do whatever he wants. And I know what it is like to spend the day with a 6-month old whose only desire is to be fed and to have my face two inches from hers at all times. And it is wonderful and fabulous and exhausting and heartbreaking and frustrating and just plain hard. It sure feels like work to me.



photo by nereocystis  http://www.flickr.com/photos/56789206@N08/6313554435/

them and him

Them:

-The one who compared the way he felt about me cutting my hair short to the way I might feel about him losing a leg.
-The one who thought playing video games in his room at his parents' house was a great first date
-The one who had already slept with 19 women
-The one who told me his friends didn't like the way I dressed
-The one who pretended that nothing had ever happened between us
-The one who told me I had the perfect body from the waist down

Him:

-The one who tells me I'm beautiful
-The one who encourages me and pushes me to be a better person
-The one who forgives me when I mess up
-The one who always defends me, always has my back
-The one who has never made me feel ugly or ashamed
-The one who is my best friend
-The one that made all of Them look like silly, immature school boys

Eight years ago, today, I chose him and he chose me. And I would do it again in a heartbeat.  

ready to give up

How I want it to go:
Me: "Truett, please put your milk into the fridge." Tru puts his milk into the fridge and I thank him.
Me: "Truett, climb into bed please." Tru climbs into bed, I kiss him goodnight and he goes to sleep. 
Me: "Truett, I love you." Tru responds by saying he loves me too.


How it has been going:
Me: "Truett, please put your milk into the fridge." Tru opens the freezer instead and then mocks me by saying, "Tru, put your milk in the fridge."
Me: "Truett, climb into bed please." Tru ignores me until I have to count to three. He sticks his tongue out at me and laughs as I reprimand him.
Me: "Truett, I love you."
Truett: "I have mulch in my shoe."


How I'm dealing with this:
Poorly.


photo by TheSoundofSunshine  http://www.flickr.com/photos/thesoundofsunshine/5490110123/

monsters and heroes

The other night at dinner Sam asked the boys what super powers they would have. We had just watched The Incredibles and they’ve added superheroes to their list of talking points. Jem said that he wanted to be able to run really fast like the one character in the movie.

Tru sat for a moment, thinking, and then held out his hands and said, “I want powerful hands.” I can honestly say that I have never heard of a superhero who had powerful hands as his super power. And I certainly never thought of wanting that power when I was a kid. I always wanted to change into an animal or breathe under water. (As a side note, my kids informed me that turning into an animal was a silly super power.)

But I started thinking about Tru’s desire for strong hands and I’m wondering now how much of it is perspective. He watches his Daddy throw a ball high up into the air using his hands. He knows what it feels like to have his Mommy pick him up with her hands and carry him to the time-out chair. Our hands are the things that can help him with something or frustrate his attempts to disobey. So maybe he sees powerful hands as a way to be in control of stuff. Or maybe he just wants a really weird superpower. He did tell me about a monster horse yesterday that spits apple juice at people so I guess wanting powerful hands isn’t that far off on the weirdness scale.

photo by Quasic  http://www.flickr.com/photos/ripton/3002133030/

the inconvenience of #2

I have recently noticed a trend in my house. Whenever we have a particularily rushed morning, one of my children inevitably needs to use the bathroom right before we head out the door. Coats will be on, I will have my purse, keys and baby carrier in hand.  And suddenly, Jem will announce that he has to use the potty. The coat comes off and the rest of us stand and wait while he does what needs to be done. Or Tru will disappear and get really quiet and then come back a few moments later announcing that he needs me to change his diaper.
It used to be worse. I'm sure other moms have experienced this one. You are buckling your kids into the car and the smell hits you and you realize that in the time it took to usher everyone out the door, one of your little loves did his/her business. And now you have all of your kids buckled into the car and you have to take them all out and back into the house to change a diaper. Twenty years ago you could have just locked the car and left the other ones behind while you ran back in, but now-a-days doing that will have child services showing up at your front door.
This seems like the dumbest thing to blog about but it happened yesterday and again today and I was just so frustrated by it. I don't like to be late and it seems like my children's digestive systems can't get with the program. It is just one more tiny little thing that is completely out of my control. I never knew how much I enjoy control until I had kids and realized how little I actually have.

photo by Leo Reynolds  http://www.flickr.com/photos/lwr/3992825492/

breakthrough, sort of

During lunch the other day, Truett dropped his spoon onto the floor. He is constantly dropping stuff because he plays with his utensils and his food and his plate. And then I am expected to retrieve things for him. So when he dropped his spoon he immediately yelled, “Mommy, I dropped my spoon.” I was standing in the kitchen fixing my own lunch and I just looked at him. There are only so many times that I can coach or instruct my kids on the proper way to speak to me or to anyone. Truett knows that yelling at me isn’t okay. He also knows that if he wants something he needs to ask and say please. And yet, he continued to yell about his dropped spoon for about two minutes. When he realized that wasn’t working he switched over to “Mommy, get my spoon.” This was repeated often and at a very loud volume. At one point, Jem even chimed in, telling me that Truett needed his spoon.

I told Tru that I could hear him and that I know that he wanted his spoon. And then I just waited. And waited. I said, “Figure it out bud.” And suddenly the screaming stopped and I heard this little voice say, “Mommy could you please get my spoon.” Yay! Maybe next time the screaming will only last for two minutes and only one minute the time after that.  And then, maybe there won't be any screaming at all and my child will simply ask me for things in a normal voice with nice manners. Am I moving too far towards delusional or is that an actual possibility?

photo by she dreams of {open windows}  http://www.flickr.com/photos/lifelovelittlethings/6006491976/

victory

I have reclaimed my living room. For the past four years, my living room has been filled with toys. It started out with just a few baby toys; the playmat for Jem to roll around on, some squishy blocks, a few books. And then the baby toys became toddler toys and preschooler toys and they slowly started to take over. In the war of living space, I was the big loser. I had been defeated and a prime piece of my land had been taken over by the little ones. My living room, with the brick fireplace, the cafe au lait walls, the comfy couch, was now adrift in a sea of toys. And it didn’t seem to matter how often I picked them up or had the boys put them away, they just came back.

But on Monday I decided to take back my living room. I moved all of the toys into our barely used sunroom. I told the boys it was a new playroom for them and had them help me move the bins and the boxes. (I also took the opportunity to get rid of another bag of toys but I didn’t tell them that.) And now the mess is confined to that room. Yes, it still leaks out into the rest of the house. I will still step over a firetruck that was left in front of the fridge and I will probably sit on a book when I sit down on the couch. But, for the most part, the living room is mine again. An adult space that can be enjoyed by all and ruled by one, me.

dropping the ball

Last Wednesday was Jem's Easter party at preschool. His preschool asks parents to sign up to bring something to one party each year. I usually try to sign up for the earliest party to get it out of the way so by this point in the year, my only responsibility is getting him to school. Or at least that is what I thought.
As we hopped out of the van on Wednesday, one of Jem's classmates was walking in wearing a toy construction hat with streamers on it. It seemed a little odd to me but I figured to each his own. And then I walked Jem into his room and realized that every single child had an easter hat. Bonnets with ribbons, ski hats with easter eggs, sparkling headbands with bunny ears. Even the teachers were wearing elaborate easter hats. And Jem had nothing.
Now it has happened before. I have occasionally forgotten about something that was going on at school and have found myself digging through the mini-van trying to find a toy for show 'n tell.  But this was different. When I walked into his classroom there was no moment of "Oh no. I forgot about the special hat." I just stood there looking around trying to figure out what was going on and why I was the only one who didn't know about it. I didn't forget to make Jem a hat because I never even knew that I was supposed to. Somehow I completely missed that memo. And as my kid stood there looking at all of the other techni-color hats, I felt like the worst mom in the world. Thankfully, one of his teachers had an extra set of bunny ears and all was made right. But still. How did I completely miss it?
And yes, I have the excuse of having three young kids, one of them still an infant. But I know that as my kids get older, life will become even busier and that I had better get my act together. My only consolation is that when they are older, some of the responsibility will shift to them and we can both feel bad about it together.


photo by flowerista2010  http://www.flickr.com/photos/violetfroman/5100980469/

whose side are you on

The other night, as we were driving home from Sam’s parents house, Tru began to cry. Jem had apparently thrown Tru’s toy crocodile into the back of the car. The boys had each gotten a new toy from Sam’s parents who had just returned from a vacation. Tru had received the crocodile and Jem had gotten a race car. They were each playing with their own toys for most of the ride home and then Truett asked to trade. Instead of handing Truett the race car, Jem simply kept both and then threw Tru’s toy in the back. When I figured out what had happened, I told Jem that he needed to put his race car on the floor. That he wasn’t allowed to play with it anymore. I also started to talk to him about how it was unkind to throw Truett’s toy into the back of the car and that he would need to find it when we got home.

We had a few seconds of silence and then Truett piped up from the back of the car, “Mom! Don’t be mad at him. He’s my brother.” And I was one part frustrated that the child I had just defended was now telling me to leave his brother alone and one part glad to see a display of brotherly loyalty and affection. I have no doubt that Tru and Jem will fight, a lot. But I’m also counting on them being best friends and having each other’s backs. So even though, in that moment, it felt like I just couldn’t win to save my life, I knew that what I was hearing was good stuff.

not my night

Have you ever made a meal and it just seemed like everything went wrong? That was last night for me. And I did not take it in stride. Normally, I prep my dinner stuff over nap time. Then, once everyone is up and running around, all I have to do is cook or throw the dish into the oven. But yesterday I filled nap time up with other things and then found myself way behind when it came time to fix dinner.

I was making two completely new dishes which probably wasn't my best idea. The one came together just fine. It was the second one that fell apart. It didn’t help that Sam kept trying to put the kids into their seats even though I kept insisting that dinner wasn’t ready. He is used to dinner being around the same time on most nights but, like I said, I was way behind. There were so many things that just didn’t seem to be going right. I managed to burn my minced garlic and ginger, not once but twice. My kids were sitting at the table saying that they don’t want to eat yucky things for dinner. And then, because I was trying to do too many things at one time, I managed to let my coconut milk boil over the top of the pan and all over the stove.
Sam was in the kitchen when it happened and pointed it out in a very helpful manner. I turned the burner off and told him to get out of my kitchen and then yelled out that I didn’t care what any of them ate for dinner. Yep. That’s me, rolling with the punches.
All in all, it was not one of my finer half hours. I’ve definitely had worse but still. However, my boys were so busy complaining about the yucky Thai peanut noodles they were eating that they didn’t even notice Mommy’s little meltdown. And Sam just helped me clean the kitchen up and then poured me a glass of iced tea. I love my family.

photo by missmareck   http://www.flickr.com/photos/missmareck/3233541226/

beware of monsters

Jem has been doing much better with staying dry overnight. There haven't been anymore middle-of-the-night wardrobe changes in a while. But he still has the occasional accident. Last week his excuse was that he was too lazy to get up and use the potty. That was when I started making him strip his own bed, remake it with clean sheets, and carry the wet ones down to the laundry. He was not a fan but the amount of "accidents" reduced dramatically.
This morning I heard him calling for me. I went in and he immediately launched into a story. "Mommy, there was a monster under my bed this morning. And he came out and he grabbed my bottom and he shook the pee out of me." What do you say to something like that? Do I praise him for being so creative? Do I scold him for telling lies? I just went with it. I told him that it was a shame that happened to him and then reminded him that he needed to strip his bed. Maybe next time I should have the monster help. 

photo by Sappymoosetree  http://www.flickr.com/photos/bahkubean/2696189626/

you're only as old as the technology you use

I don't really think of myself as old. I'm in my early 30's and yes, things don't quite work the same or look the same, but I don't feel old. However, I'm starting to see signs; signs that say I'm going to be the uncool old grandma who never tries anything new and refuses to "get with the times".
I blame it all on the ipad and the MAC operating system. What's wrong with PC? Why did we have to go and change everything? I received a Nook for christmas two years ago. It's great for renting ebooks from the library and playing angry birds. But I can't work the stupid internet to save my life. All of the buttons are different and nothing is in the right place. And frankly, I don't have a ton of spare time to sit and fool around with it. I want everything to be where it is supposed to be.
You see? It's coming. I will eventually be calling my kids and asking them to come program my DVR for me. And they will come over, insist that no one uses DVR anymore and beg me to upgrade to the newest thing. I'll tell them that I can't possible work it and say that there isn't anything wrong with my DVR. They'll shake their heads and talk about putting me into a home as they drive away.
My only hope is that they will find my stodgy ways endearing instead of annoying. But something tells me I had better get with the program. Even my own grandma has an ipad. That's right. My grandma is moving on with technology and leaving me in the dust. Maybe I should just save my kids the trouble and put myself into a home now.


photo by leondel   http://www.flickr.com/photos/leondel/5745022897/

wild things

Yesterday, we took the boys down to a local park. It has a great nature center with all sorts of animals to look at and things to explore. It also has a number of walking trails. After spending some time inside looking at all of the animals, we decided to take them for a walk up one of the trails.
As soon as we got outside and started walking, Jem started yelling. Not in a bad way. More like in a I'm-so-excited-I-can't-control-the-volume-of-my-voice kind of way. Everything he saw was fascinating and he decided that we needed to know about it. And it didn't seem to matter that we were walking next to him, he still needed to shout. He shouted to us about the wooden bridge. He shouted about the markers on the trees that let you know you were still on the path. He shouted at us to hurry up.
The trail crossed over the creek and then started ascending one of the hills. Jem jogged up the hill, shouting to me the entire time while Sam walked with Tru. We reached a halfway point on the hill and found a bench. Jem had already continued on and I began to follow him when I heard Tru say, "Mommy, come to me." I turned around and saw him closing in on the bench walking like a little old man or just a really tired three-year old. "I so tired Mommy." I told him to go ahead and rest on the bench. Meanwhile Jem was yelling down to me to hurry up and come join him.
It was a pretty comical morning. When I think of walking in the woods, I think of peace. I think of listening to the sounds of the birds, the twig snap that signals a deer is nearby, the chitter of squirrels. This was not a quiet, peaceful walk in the woods. If there was any wildlife it cleared out quickly. Dragons will do that. But it was a good reminder of how much little boys need to be out in nature. And a reminder that there was a time when I used to run everywhere and notice everything and that sometimes being a grown-up is overrated.