Wendi {at random}

I used to be the kind of mom who swore her children would never play with guns.
Or watch Sponge Bob.
Or make farting noises with their hands under their armpits.
I was so sure my children would not grow up to be so devilishly boyish.
And if not for the sheer joy of motherhood, I would have won.
Now, they play with water guns, nerf guns, storm trooper guns.
They play with pirate swords and light sabers.
They watch Sponge Bob the movie, the TV show, and rerun after rerun after rerun of recorded episodes.
And they make farting noises with their hands under their armpits.
I don't think they've turned out quite so bad, though.
They are cute.
Devilishly cute.
And they are nice.
They love God, Jesus, and let us not forget Mary, as Benjy reminds me every night in his prayers.
They care about the earth and about science and about doggies and minnows and bunny rabbits and birds.
They're boys through and through.
Right down to their Underoos, running around the backyard stalking imaginary bad guys and stopping here and yonder to take a sip from their guns.