They can never walk quietly along a sidewalk, holding your hand; instead they need to gallop down sidewalk, leap up and down off the curbs, and balance on any knee-length wall that look like a balance beam.
They can never just politely sip a drink through a straw; instead they must blow bubbles, shape the straw into angles, or try to squirt each other.
Their socks are only clean when you take them out of the package. After that, no matter how freshly washed, they have the color of sand, mud, pebbles and bark.
Their pockets, when you do the laundry, are often filled with rocks, pinecones, gum wrappers, Nerf bullets, pens and rubber bands.
Their hands are perpetually dirty, even right after washing.
They hate to take showers until about the 6th grade.
They love dinosaurs.
They love superheroes.
They can play outside for hours and hours, moving easily from one game to the next, as long as there are other boys to play with.
Tag is a universal game for all ages, every generation.
But after all their crazy energy, dirty socks, moaning about showers, and shooting Nerf guns all day and all night, they are the coziest of cozy on the couch.
And they love their moms.
I love having boys. …
