I was sitting on the couch nursing Austin. Three of the boys were climbing up on the end table and jumping off, landing in a pile of couch cushions. They were challenging each other to see who could go farther. There was about a four foot gap in between the pile and the cushions, so of course, Carsten bumped his head, but he just rubbed it, moved the cushions closer and kept going.
As I watched them, I told myself that they probably shouldn't be jumping off of the furniture. My dad never would have let us do that growing up. Sets a bad precedent. It's not good for the furniture. But it's RAINING! What else are they going to do?
At this point, I actually said out loud, "We have SIX boys." Yes, six. That's a lot of boys. It still makes me laugh to think about it. Here I am, raised in a house with three sisters and just one brother, raising SIX BOYS (and one girl).
Boys have a synergistic effect. The more boys, the more chaos, er, fun. There's never a dull moment around here. You learn a lot when you have lots of boys. Lesson number one: Any item can be used as a weapon. Lesson number two: Quiet is a bad thing. Quiet boys are up to no good. Lesson number three: Legos multiply in the toy box, and wander out, digging themselves deep into the carpet, awaiting unsuspecting bare feet. Lesson number four: Mud is magnetic. Doesn't matter how much dry lawn there might be outside, boys will be attracted to the mud.
When you have boys, you always have a cowboy.
And camouflage hats.
And injuries (the kind of injuries that make the injured proud.)
And Legos.
Lots of Legos.
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