It’s nice to know that I’m not the only person who can’t control my children.

Case in point:  today while sitting in the sanctuary during Bible Study worship time, a friend came up and whispered in my ear:  “Guess who I found downstairs looking for a snack?”  Honestly, my first thought was one of the grounds caretakers that we both know:  I mean, who wouldn’t want to raid all the yummy treats that inhabit the Fellowship Hall on Thursday mornings?  Yes, we come to worship, but we also come for the food … and the drinks … and the adult time (ah, adult time, where there should always be food and drink).

I laughed at my friend and turned around.  Then she whispered, “I asked him if he was supposed to be down there and what he was doing.  He looked at me and yelled, ‘NO!’”  This behavior didn’t seem typical of an adult, and it sounded familiar, so I started to wonder …

She continued, “I asked him if I could take him back to his room.  He took off running, in the right direction like he knew exactly where he was and how he wasn’t supposed to be there.  The childcare workers were looking for him and said they had even checked the doors because he’d been trying out the locks earlier.”

Yes, yes, that would be my second born son.  And those locks on the doors that he got around?  They were installed because of his older brother, who busted out of two nurseries three times in two weeks.  Awesome:  totally the legacy I dreamed my family being known for.

So when I feel like I’m a bad mom because my oldest seems to think of the boundaries of the front porch (as in, you can wait on the front porch for your father to come home) to include any cement coming in contact with our front porch so he’s running up and down the street yelling at every car going by like he’s a bizerko puppy; because I’m helping the eldest upstairs and come down the first flight of stairs to find the littlest person laying right there on the floor when I had left her in on a playmat in the room at the bottom of the next flight of stairs; when the middle child won’t choose to wear either his Bob the Builder or dinosaur pajamas so he spends most of the night without any pants;  when the husband has no socks because the load of whites has been sitting the dryer since we don’t know when; when I spend twenty minutes looking for the library Elmo DVD the boys were *just* watching, thinking I’ve lost my mind, finally finding it shoved underneath the 1/8th inch space between the entertainment center and the pedestal holding up the tv (along with a Tiger Woods Wii game which I’d given up being bothered to find) …

I can say, at least I’m not the only one who can’t keep track of it all. 

Boo’s new happy place

An Abe boy in Dad’s shoes

Oh, he looks like his dad.

Ready for the holidays … or college.

Happy times on the couch (although someone seems to be keeping her eyes on the heavens – either out of praise, or petitions for safety ).

Hope this satisfies the picture requests. 

Daily Drivel, Mama Musings