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The boys worship their father and my husband, Wade, and follow his lead as he clears 720’s off of every precipice. Or rather, Brevitt, the oldest, clears it most of the time. Axel, the middle child, perseveres in manic attempts to clear it and Tucker, our youngest, jumps off making all the appropriate sound effects. We travel from BMX park to ski terrain parks replete with full face helmets and pads for every sport. I keep 911 on speed dial.
When we are home we are hip hopping around the house while Brevitt Dj’s. Wade is the lead singer of their raucous air guitar band. People often say that Wade has a certain Will Farrell appeal. This helps in the humor department. The other night, while trying to commandeer the boys to get ready for bed, I threw a book at him titled, “How to Redirect Children’s Behavior.” He commented that he didn’t need to read no stinkin’ book and proceeded to dramatize all he had learned from my painful parenting classes. In a split second he had the boys dancing behind him, giggling and performing the bedtime routine, no problem. It is unfortunate that I have to suffer, alone, the audible groans and apologies I hear when it is my turn to announce, “Hi, I’m Jillian, a mother of three boys”. But I don’t need apologies. I love my boys!
Brevitt was a big, friendly, yellow lab in his previous life. This has transitioned over to a loveable, entertaining, social, highly energetic boy. He helps me herd his brothers and he teaches them all the lessons in life. Axel and Brevitt work together well, most of the time. They have big imaginations and are always inventing, destroying, wrestling and creating. Axel was Jean-Paul Sartre in his previous life and is a wise old soul. He is dreamy and passionate and very humorous when he messes with his older brother.
Currently, Tucker is the one who keeps us on our toes. Quickly, his boyhood is escalating at all levels. He is always rock and rolling and following me around the house asking me questions about life; “Are real snakes stuffed like toy snakes? Why do they call it a tummyegg? (tummyache), where’s my banero? (bow and arrow).” He also redundantly inquires as to when we will be blasting off again to visit Grandma in an airplane? I have not yet decided what he was in his previous life, maybe my father, which means I'm in big trouble.
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