A note on motherhood

My children are gems.

Isaac likes to refer to himself as a man when he's angry. For example:

" This bike isn't big enough for me. I need a tall bike....for a MAN!" Or,

" I am so angry. I am Going to go watch TV...like a MAN, because that is what MEN do...watch TV!", or better yet,

"A MAN shouldn't have to listen to his little brothers when they are soooo annoying."

Either way, he obviously sweats like a man.

What? What am I raising? The real question is: Where is he learning this filth? His poor wife. ( let's be honest, if any woman puts up with this garbage, she can have him)


Corbin is fascinated with death. Especially death by explosion... As in, Exploding from eating too much. I have tried to argue that this is an impossibility, but he won't hear it. Especially when I ask him to share his skittles with his little brother. He has an instant reason not to:

" I love Brody so much and I don't want to see him esplode, and he will because look at his tummy. It is already so huge. I am sure he will esplode if I share."

Who can argue that one?

Jackson is OBSESSED with having friends over to play. I have tried to limit the invites to our house to once a week ( because it is always during Brody's nap, and hey-kids are loud). On the days he has friends over, you would think the boy had won the lottery. On the days he has to play with his brothers, I am pretty sure someone died. I mean mourning is taking place here six days a week. Life is bleak for the little guy.

Brody, while possessing many worth while qualities, it must be noted that he is an awful car rider. I HATE it. I throw every imaginable piece of edible thing at him as I drive while attempting not to swerve. I am so distracted by the constant screeching that I start to sweat and yell. Not pretty. Babies don't respond to yelling by doing what you want. ( At least not mine). I was so distracted as we drove home from hockey practice last night that I forgot to turn on my head lights. ( we were surrounded by street lights) I got pulled over. All four of my kids were like
" Mommy, is that one of those bad police mans who gives tickets, or a good one who helps people like crying baby Brody ?"

Good question, my sons. We shall see. Luckily, I got off with a warning. David laughed at me and complained that women get away with murder on the streets. Really, David? Because I am pretty sure I could have committed one had that kid not stopped screaming in lieu of the flashing lights and slow passing rubber- neckers. Really? Good to know.

All in all, motherhood has been kind to me. I have my complaints, but I do enjoy these boys and find the things that irritate me in the day always make me laugh once they are asleep. I am happy-and so grateful that I can say that- and mean it.