a special kind of love

Inevitably, my clients ask me about my own children. How many I have ("wow - THREE!") and how old they are and ALWAYS it comes up that they are all boys. It has almost become amusing seeing their reactions... and it never fails that the comment is something along of the lines of "what are you going to do with three boys!?" or "wow, you have your hands full."

They can be little turds. I mean, turds to the Nth degree. (Sans the baby - besides the new screeching technique he's perfected that is the highest possible note audible to human ears - he's perfect.) Some days, I wonder how in the ever-living hell I will make it through the next 17 1/2 years before my last child leaves for college. And yes, I realize it probably isn't nice to refer to your children as turds, but that is the beauty of having your own blog. Kids can be turds. Or at least mine can.

But really - and shhh... don't tell Mark this - I thrive on the chaos. For a few hours today, Mark took the boys to the Eno after Miller got out of school. They stopped for an Icee on the way home, which made their little adventure even longer. Everett was home with me, snoozing away upstairs. And for those few blissful hours, I worked in total silence. I didn't even turn on Oprah. The silence was golden, but bizarre. My house is loud. LOUD. REALLY, REALLY LOUD AT ALL TIMES. Someone is always hurt, laughing, yelling, or crying. But in those two hours I did about two weeks' worth of work. It was so wonderful and Twilight Zone-ish all at the same time. I can't imagine my house without the smell of sweaty little boy hair, without pairs of shoes strewn all over the floor, without twenty Thomas trains lined up on the living room floor, without Miller's ridiculously amazing drawings and pencils scattererd all over the kitchen table.

They are wild, they are messy, and they are definitely naughty. And best of all, they're mine:-)