There is one thing I know with absolute certainty.  I will always be thankful that I've spent so much time with my children, and I will always look back on it wishing I'd spent even more.  They are silly little monkeys who sometimes don't listen at all and I can go hoarse trying to get them to clean up.  But, on the other hand, they're marvelous little creatures who love with wild abandon, show a strong sense of security/pride/courage/and will, and have an openness that stuns me and makes me feel like they can see right through me sometimes.

Tonight we were playing Go Fish together, and the cards are fish shaped and are unique colors (like cafe au lait, buttercup, hot pink, indigo, jade, and turquoise) so often the boys would ask someone if they had the card they were looking for and they would stop and whisper out of the corner of their mouths, "What do you call this color again?"  Henry asked that once, and then Walter asked forever afterwards.  So cute.

Henry eventually started asking for "leparcot" in place of buttercup - which had me rolling.  And when you're with a 5 year old and a 2 year old and one person starts giggling, well, it's basically all over after that.

So, there are times when I want to pull my (or someone's) hair out, but in the end, I just wanna hang with the boys. 

It's winter and my thumb split by the nail.  It happens every winter, and as winter seems to never end around here, we stock up on antibiotic ointment and band-aids.  Tonight, it bled, so Henry doctored me, but every time he got the ointment within a 2" radius of my thumb I winced, shrunk back, and hollered.  He smiled a weird smile like he wanted to help, but was a little freaked out about my reaction, and I think maybe wondered what it might be like when he actually touched me.  I kept it up, and the poor boy never touched me.  Then, he placed a very gentle and loving hand on my shoulder and told me to stop doing that and be normal.  So, I did, and he was so worked up over the whole scenario that he left telling me that I would have to put the band-aid on because he wasn't going to touch it.

We were at the library.  The boys were doing their own thing while I looked for books.  Henry was at the computer mucking about and Walt was at the train table.  A few other kids mulled around, and among them was a little guy, about 1 1/2 years old.  Walter looked like a big kid next to him, and that shook me up a bit.  All of a sudden, I looked up from where I was looking at children's books and I looked over at Walter, about 20 feet away from me.  He stood there with a frown on his face and his hands on his hips.  He just stood there, and I looked at him trying to understand what he was unhappy about, when it occurred to me that he didn't have his nuk in his mouth.  I followed his gaze to the little boy who was rather rapidly moving toward his mother - and he had a nuk in his mouth (my child's nuk, to be precise).  Then, I heard his mom exclaim, "Oh!  Did you take his nuk?"

Why, yes, he had. 

The mother was very kind, offering to wash it for us, but we were on our way out and I told her not to worry and that I would take care of it.  Walter made damn sure I did too.  I was so surprised at his lack of reaction, but I suspect you could've knocked him over with a feather over this whole scene.  Walter's no pushover - ask his brother - so this kid is either too young to know what he was doing, or he's a force to be reckoned with himself.  In any case, I hustled out of there before a brawl broke out.