never thought I would be the mother of boys. I am still in awe.
Sometimes they are sweet.
When I am handing out a cookie to one boy and he immediately holds out his other hand and says “Brother”, and then runs off to share the wealth.
Sometimes they are supportive.
When one boy is in time-out and his brother stands in tearful solidarity at his knee, waiting until the timer goes off.
Sometimes they are bad.
When they discovered that the pieces of their play food set would make big red and green marks on my white walls.
Sometimes they attack.
When one boy gets the coveted crayon box and other boy gets the wimpy crayon bag, and is so angry that he head butts his brother since his arms are full of coloring books and sippy cups.
Sometimes they hog the spotlight.
When one boy clapped and cheered at the end of the entrance hymn in mass a few weeks ago and got a big laugh from the congregation, they both cheered and clapped so much for the next 2 minutes that we had to leave.
Sometimes they are scared.
When they hear the rumble of the trash truck outside and run to my side whispering “Whas’at?”
Sometimes they are maddening.
When one boy tearfully demands something in his own toddler dialect, and his brother joins the chorus of frustrated, whiney screeches, until both fall in a defeated, angry heap at my unable-to-translate feet.
Always, always they are so much more than I could have hoped for.
When they wrap their arms around me and snuggle into my neck and say “MY Mommy”.
When they clasp their hands benevolently to say grace.
When they chase each other around in hysterical, full, belly laugh.
When they say something new.
When they stare in wonder at a tiny baby or a bird on the porch.
When they run with abandon through the mud puddles.
When they love me back.