Being a M.O.B. (mother of boys)

This August will mark four years that I have been a mother to a boy. One boy for three years was interesting. Now that we've added a second boy, well, life is really interesting. There are some things about boys that have surprised me somewhat. 

For example, they really like their mamas. Before becoming a M.O.B., I thought they'd be all about Dad. They do love their dad, but my boys seem to find everything I do riveting. Like showering. It's the one thing I like to do alone. I shut the door, turn the water on and enjoy the five or ten minutes of solitude. I keep the bathroom door locked during this "mommy time". And then I hear it. An bone-chilling scream coming from the living room. What can it mean? Did some intruder enter the house? Have they gotten into the steak knives and cut off a toe? I stop the shower, grab a towel and race into the living room. They are where I left them. Sitting in front of the t.v. watching an episode of Clifford the Big Red Dog. I love that dog and that show. I scan the room for an intruder or any sign of blood and/or toes. Nothing. And then I ask, "Why did you scream, little one?" The response, "I couldn't get my applesauce open." I see. My almost four year old couldn't get his applesauce pouch open so he did what he thought the situation called for--screamed.

I would tell you that this was an isolated incident, but something like this happens every time I take a shower and don't allow them in the bathroom. I think it's a conspiracy. They may be young, but clearly they have come up with this plan to worm their way into my "mommy time".

Another surprising thing is how early they become Big Ole Babies when they're sick. Previously, I thought this was something guys learned in high school or college. Like it was some secret class offered that girls didn't know about. When they separated the boys and girls in health class, they weren't really talking about anatomy, they were teaching the boys the horrors of the common cold or worse yet a paper cut. 

I've had three "under the weather" guys this week. Yes, you read that right---three. They are all three legitimately sick--snotty noses, stuffed up noses, coughing, just feeling poorly. Just the other day, I had two wrapped up tight in blankets on the couch and one in my lap. They were pitiful. Terrible. I worried they wouldn't make it, but we survived it all with only one trip to the doctor and one  co-pay.

Until today when John Owen woke up with a nasty allergic rash and so the saga continues.

If they all three weren't so lovable and just plain awesome, I might have sent them packing by now.

But they are sweet, even in their whiny, snotty, congestedness. And I love them. A LOT. And I love being a M.O.B.