You Love Having Boys
“Mom, can I have my own room when we move?”
Puck was dressing for school on the top bunk of his bed. I don’t know why he always chooses such inconvenient places to change his clothes.
“I doubt it, bud. Our new house probably won’t be much bigger than the house we have now.”
I could hear the disappointment seeping out of his voice. “But, Mom. I really need my own room now. I’m halfway to college.”
No need to remind me.
The morning was mist and green, full-blown honeysuckle on the back fence. By the time sun cracked through it all, Yali and I were at the local early childhood development center for another hour of speech therapy questions and evaluations by three pleasant ladies in a conference room while Yali examined puzzles and books on the floor with one of the evaluators. Three more assessments were scheduled for June. They’re thorough; I’ll give them that. The little guy has come far in all his medical issues nearly a year in, and 30 appointments later.
As soon as I brought Yali back to my room for his nap, I heard the first rumble in the northwest. Shortly after he fell to snoozing, large cracks of lightning split the neighborhood. Heavy rain washed the streets, a little hail. Then while I was working in Oxbear’s office, it began to flood through the windows. I sopped up the mess with a few towels. That’s what windows from 1969 will get you. One more thing to fix on the list before selling.
Somewhere towards the end of this downpour, Carrie-Bri texted the sibling group: baseball-sized hail at the Big House. Photo proof in hand. This was something new. Fortunately no damage was done.
Not as much could be said for the car meandering about 30 mph down the highway on the way to school, emergency flashers on. Its back window had clearly been smashed through with hail.
Back home, Oxbear discussed a cracks repair estimate in the basement while I prepped fish tacos upstairs.
It didn’t take long after dinner for the boys to get busy doing boy things. I turned away from packing up for another school day to Puck running around in superhero underwear and Yali attached to a cat leash at the hand of Oxbear. I usually don’t ask “why” to the three of them, but sometimes Oxbear reads the question on my face.
“You love having boys,” he grinned.
Yes. I do.