Mothering Mayhem: Life with the Wild Boys

I was wandering through the Denver airport earlier this week, flying home from a flyspeck town in Wyoming with a three hour layover.  In front of me was a little girl, about Gavin's age, holding her grandmother's hand and clinging desperately to her doll with the other hand.  The doll was clearly well loved and looked like it never parted from this girl, ever. For a fleeting moment I looked at that little girl all in pink with beautifully braided hair and color coordinated shoes with her precious baby doll and had a moment of longing.  That realization that I will never, ever, have a child I can dress in an outfit I bought to specially coordinate with her doll. I was almost sad. Almost. But not quite.  Because then I flashed back on my oldest two children, the girls, when they were teenagers.  And just recalling it I got goosebumps and felt my pupils constrict in panic. I shook free of the terror and couldn't contain a deep, evil belly laugh for the little gir...

March brings St. Patrick's Day to the Casa de Testosterone.  It's a joyous time, filled with numerous celebrations for the Irish woman and her little temper prone wild boys.  One of our family traditions in this wonderful month is a semi-local Celtic Fair. Part of you have now officially declared me nerdy beyond repair.  That's ok, I've long since accepted that. In fact, when I got my first Star Trek related t-shirt and was so giddy I called people to tell them about it I accepted my status.  But for those of you judging keep in mind this is not just a fair full of people in costume (although it is that, which makes for fantastic people watching), it is also full of highland games, jousting, awesome music and whiskey tasting.  So you want to judge? Tell it to the ripped guy in the kilt tossing a caber.  The one who just came from the whiskey tasting. Go ahead, call us weirdos. I dare you. So me and the wild boys go to the fair every year with my folks, ...