They're Growing On Me

I never would have thought of myself as the mother of boys...and certainly not this many of them! So many things I'll never understand. Their amusement with competition, disgusting things, dangerous experiments, firearms, and ruining otherwise lovely snapshots with expressions of death and facial contortions. Did I really enter a certain bedroom recently and out of exasperation have to yell "There is something dead in here and I am not going to be the on who searches for it!"? No, surely that was someone else. And she was presented with a weeks-old dead crayfish. Or crawdad.

But they're growing on me.

I think I'll keep them. Forever. In my heart anyway. And when

they repulse me or it is time to clean the bathrooms again I will direct myself to my mental orchid room where all is feminine and sweet smelling.

They do clean up nicely, though, don't they?