Crazy Love




My kids drive me crazy. But I love them like crazy. They are both bright, witty, kind, rather cute (people tell me so), but in so many ways so TOTALLY unlike me that I wonder if we really know who their mother was. They wear me out. There is a reason that at a Certain Age, boys want to leave home, and magically, it’s about the same time that you want to say “I love you very much. Go away.” They never asked for much. There were no TVs and computers in their rooms, no new cars (Number One Son: “I have the second ugliest car in the entire school. It’s embarassing.” Mom: “Are you glad you don’t have to ride the bus as a senior?”) Number Two Son, I am convinced, lies awake at night trying to find ways to torture me. Wait, that would require EFFORT on his part. It must just come naturally to him. When I accused Boy One of being spoiled, he answered – Mom, I realize that I am privileged, but I don’t think I am spoiled.

I want to wail about my youngest, but I realize that it could be much much worse. He’s law abiding, kind, and he does have brains, they just have not quite jelled into an actual structure yet. Today, he told me that he doesn’t want to do anything to give up his ‘individuality’. That might sound impressive, if he didn’t dress, talk, and groom himself as a clone of about two dozens of the kids that wander in and out of our home. I hate that eye-rolling thing they do when you speak English to them…

The pictures are from our Blood and Guts tour of France. The Catacombs, Versailles. Naw, they’re not spoiled.

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