I love having boys, being a mom of boys, being surrounded by boys. For so many reasons.
I love that bonking heads, pretending to bonk heads, thinking about bonking heads, and actually bonking heads against a wall are serious forms of comedy.
I love that just the mention of the word “ball” can erase all memory of a painful fall and dry up tears in an instant.
I love that I can take plane rides and boat rides and bus rides and car rides without ever leaving the comfort of my couch.
I love plaid shorts and polo shirts on short legs and round bellies.
I love the legos all over the floor and I look forward to the structures the boys will make when they have the dexterity and attention span for it.
I love the bed-jumping, couch-jumping, jumping-pad-jumping. (But I’m not such a fan of stair-jumping or table-jumping.)
I love steamrolling through the living room, and being steamrolled in return.
I love the cheek-pokes and zerberts that pass as kisses.
I love the cuddles that evolve into tickle wars that morph into wrestling matches.
I love the desperate search for favorite cars that must be tucked under arms at bedtime if anyone is to sleep properly.
I love having boys.