There are boys...and then there are Boys with Brothers!

I told the boys to put away their clean clothes and to pick up their room. Now, under direct whip and chair, they can complete this job in under thirty minutes. However, within an hour, there was a terrible thud. The silence grew. I rushed upstairs with the call of, "What was that?"
"Nothing," was the chorused reply.
I charged up the stairs and swung into the twins' room. No boys. Just a broken table and chair.
I called for the boys and from under beds and out of closets they came. Shame and fear written on their guilty faces.
"How did this happen?"
I was immediately assaulted by three different versions and three different culprits. There was finger pointing, denial and anger.
After examining the debris field I came to the conclusion that they table had died in a bunk bed related incident. I think they were jumping from the upper bunk to the table.
Why? Why would three boys do this?
Were they trying to ride the ceiling fan, again?
Were the launching stuffed animals from the fan?
I try not to ask why too many times. I stopped asking after they all hung out of a second story window with hard hats on. When they put Conner in the dryer. When they crawled out on to the back porch roof.
I have had to rescue Conner from the washing machine (with James cheerfully sitting on the shut lid). I had to rescue Conner from the freezer, and that one scared me. I put a lock on the freezer after that.
And also after that, the boys stole the key and we were locked out of our food for three days until one of them "found" the keys. Which was a miracle seeing as they were hidden in his sock drawer.
Now, those with only one son will wonder why my boys do these things. But there is a difference between a boy and a boy with brothers.
We did get the remains of the table into the hallway. We will see if Pop-pop will be able to fix it.
Total time on putting away the clothes and cleaning the room: 4 hours 45 minutes. A new record.
I am not raising sons, I am raising Huey, Dewey and Louie.

Twins are Seven!!!!!!!

Well, the twins are seven! It is hard to comprehend. While they still want hugs when they fall. I still kiss them good night. I find mittens and fix zippers. But, as I look at them, running, playing and working at school, I realize that they are pursuing independence. The "I an do it, Mama!" has gone to ab unspoken realization, that they just do what ever it is they need, they don't have to show me or prove anything.
It hurts in a small way, but on another front, I cheer these victories. These were my preemies, my way early boys who were expected to have lengthy difficulties.
That is hard to imagine them as less than the normal little boys they are. I watch the mock gun battle with cap guns. I see them digging a whole to the center of the earth, running through a pasture with a magnet to find metal.
They are my happy, wonderful boys. They have grown away from the handicaps of their birth and merely go through what every active boy struggles with: being nice to their sister, sharing, finishing their dinner.
Happy birthday my beautiful boys!