Brothers.

The entire time I was pregnant, everyone told me how much the baby was going to love having a big brother. But, nobody prepared me for how much the big brother was going to love the baby. 

There is no part of this parenting gig that I love more than watching these boys be brothers. 

It is really my happy place.

I always tell Anderson that I love him more than anyone else in the world loves him (because I am the mom, duh.) The other night he told me loved me more than he loved anyone else, but he looked a little reluctant. So, I said, "It is ok if it not me." And, he said, in a relieved voice, "Ok, it is really Ferg* that I love the most." 

*I have no idea why he calls Max "Ferg" but we have sort of run with it and created various nicknames, like Fergalicious. I mean, that is just fun.

Sharing the love of garbage trucks.

Protecting him from the wasps because I was really focused on getting as many blackberries as I could from the random bushes on our walk and did not have time for safety concerns.

Clearly, I was not focused on protecting him from the sharp rocks/water either.

Anderson always has to get in the car first so he can climb in Max's car seat because it makes Max laugh when I open the door. One day he was climbing back on his side and he said, with a little shake of his head, "I just cannot get enough of that Ferg."


At church the other day I told Anderson to tell God 5 people he was thankful for and as he told me his list, I was not at all surprised that Max was first.

So grateful that my childhood dream of having boys* has come true.

*I even wanted blond ones. Truly, I cannot make this up. My 5th grade letter to myself and my high school time capsule both predict that my happiness will be with my blond haired sons. I feel that the fact that half of them are blond is pretty spot on and perfect.