I have to be honest with you Mom . . .

It's never good when a conversation with your child starts off this way, but this is how Ben and I started off last night at the dinner table.

"I have to be honest with you, Mom. I love Dad 70% and you 30%."

This coming from the little boy who WORSHIPS his father, who has worshipped his father since day 1.  Ben was born with Brad worship.  It came as no surprise to me. 

My reply, "I believe you're being honest with me Ben.  You've always been a Daddy's boy."

Now, here comes the crazy part.

Ben continued, "You know mom,  I know you had me and everything but Dad must have been the one that I first saw.  He must have been the one to hold me first and I bet as a baby he held me all the time."

I laughed and laughed.  I laughed so hard I almost cried.  Brad, hold a baby!  That's funny...really, really funny.    Not only did Brad NOT  hold babies, but he used to play this little hide and seek game with them.  He'd hide the baby in random places (like closets, cupboards and dresser drawers) throughout the house and let me find them by tracking their muted cries.   Now, to be fair to Brad, he held Jordan occasionally but I think that was because the first child was still a novelty to him.  By the time Ben came along the child/children were mine until they were one or two years old at which time Brad would start to lavish them with fatherly attention after they "became interesting".

After my fit of laughter, things calmed down a bit.  I didn't have the heart to shatter his illusion of being held by his father all the time as an infant, but I did tell him that it was me he first saw and me who first held him and I left it at that.

I left it at that because I think it's great that right now Ben loves Brad 70% and me 30%.  I know that at different times, that will change.  I know that one day when he's a teenager and full of testosterone, he may disagree with his father and he'll have faint memories of being put in a dark place by him and then...he'll remember me saving him and he'll realize that I'm still there waiting for him.  I'm there listening and at that time he will say to me "Mom, I love you 70% and Dad, 30%."  No need to get my feelings hurt and no need for me to love him any less.  I just love my Benny and his brutal honesty. 

Yes, I love my Benny even when he breaks rulers and personal whiteboards on consectutive days at school because he was testing their "bendiness" and gets sent to the principal's office for three lunch breaks.  I am expecting a lot of great years ahead :).

A while back (1 week before Christmas) our snow finally arrived.  It snowed 2 feet in 2 days.  We live in an area of windy roads and hills and with the snow came a big dent in our suburban.  It was put there by a tree.  A tree that we ran into on our way to a party.  A tree that Brad ran into...not me.  He will claim of course that his "Dukes of Hazzard" driving skills saved us from careening off a cliff. . . that's 2 for this year Mr. Petty!

Of course with snow comes snowball fights.  Yes those are actual snowballs in action being exchanged by father and son.  Note the fear and flinching on the part of an aging Brad.

And with snow and hills comes sledding . . . through the trees.

Jake had a few nasty run-ins with trees before we found the perfect sled for him that would deliver him safely to the bottom almost every time, smiling all the way down.

Even after tumbling head over heels,  

he'd always come up smiling:  

The boys get to going pretty fast (Kenzie's smarter than that)

Brad eventually had to institute a feet first and helmet rule for some of the less cautious riders. 

The best part of it all for me was that we got to sled out of our own backyard.  It's a good thing too because my children elect to wear blue jeans instead of the nice snow pants I bought for them.  Then they beg for hot chocolate after their clothing is so frozen stiff they can hardly walk.

Of course tradition dictates that we have our nativity play the night of Christmas Eve.  It went well for about 2 seconds...

but then my boys just couldn't sit still.

And though we made it through the whole scriptural account (barely), by the end we had a very unhappy Mary.

To end this post I want to share with you three things I learned this Christmas:

1.  No boy is ever too old for an RC car.  They will play with their younger brothers' cars if they don't get their own.  (Nice socks dad.)

2.  If an 8 year old specifically tells you, "The only thing I DON'T want for Christmas is legos.  I'm too old for that now."  Chances are, you can just ignore the statement and on Christmas day he'll be SOOO into the legos he didn't want that you won't hear a peep from him all day.

3.  If you have older boys (note the plural here) and they are getting matching jammies on Christmas Eve, make sure all the jammies have matching tops or you'll end up having a muscle contest all night long.

Oh, and Mom, next year make sure you make Jordan's top ten sizes too small.  I mean, look how big his muscles look in Jake's top here. He's been putting on a lot of Jake's shirts lately...hmmmm, I wonder why? :)