I might have mentioned that we have a guinea pig. Harry is the progeny of the class pets at the local elementary school who joined our family when my oldest asked if we could keep her (yes, Harry is a girl…). My husband told Ethan that it was up to me, a mistake he regrets because he really didn’t want a guinea pig, and our very timid and traumatized guinea pig moved from a raucous class of third graders into a family of four kids. She’s still traumatized.
Last week, the thing that I have been dreading happened.
A friend emailed me this week and invited me to an online event on Friday night. I told her that I would love to be there, but Brian was going to be a men’s camping retreat with church so I was going to be on my own with the four kids. I said that I would be there, barring any unforeseen chaos.
I actually used the word “chaos” in my email to her. I learned a lesson this week.
Don’t use “chaos” in reference to something you are hoping doesn’t happen with three boys and a foster daughter. I also shouldn’t play the song “I Lived” by OneRepublic as it has the line “With every broken bone I swear I lived.” It’s only setting myself up for failure.
Last night I told Brian that I had seen a list of things parents never thought they would have to say… until they had a boy. The list was funny, but most were pretty mild. I mean, “Why is there pee on the floor?” is amongst our weekly refrains which usually ends in all three boys pointing immediately at another brother.
I had a completely unexpected and hilarious conversation with my seven-year old this week. For some reason, he was really interested in the photos that are on our refrigerator.
Luke was looking at them and asking questions about when they were taken and he came to the photo of Ethan and him holding Jackson about two weeks after I had him.
Luke looked at me in utter surprise:
This week has been interesting. I’ve written before how life is never dull with three boys, but the saga continues. (click here for the previous hilarity)
I have decided that having a two-year old boy share a room with an infant is not really the best of ideas. Jackson loves to sing. The problem with this is that his singing precludes sleeping: his own and that of my foster daughter.
I clearly laugh often as a parent.
No matter how much I try, I can never fully expect what they will come up with next. This photo, while a couple of years old, is evidence of that.
Luke was only three years old and had gotten in the habit of screaming, “NEEEEED COFFEEEEE!” It is always a good point to take pause when kids start doing some very adult behaviors. Apparently, I am far too coffee-dependent.
Life is sure to never be dull with three boys! Ours are now eight, six, and two and a half respectively and keeping me on my toes. My dad was one of three boys and I feel like I am beginning to better understand his childhood better. When he told me stories about the things he did growing up, I thought they were all crazy. Now, I’m seeing history repeat itself…