Scott & Brade: A Tale of Two Sons

Going through some photos tonight and I just had to share. I am blessed with two sons; my oldest son is named Scott. He has the kind of imagination that is without end or limitation. If you spend any amount of time with Scott, you will likely see him wander off into a nearby field or lot and begin to transform. Yes, that's right... transform. Complete with mouth noises, the works. He does it when he doesn't think anyone is looking, and he doesn't seem to hear you when he is in the middle of one of these transformations. He is extremely right brained, and if you put him in a box, and ask for a nice picture while taking family portraits at Yellowstone National Park, you might get this:

    

 
Now, this is a lovely photo of Scott and everything, but it doesn't truly capture his nature. If, on the other hand, you were to say to Scott, "OK, Buddy, you win....let's do whatever you want to do now," the results will be sure to entertain. You might get:

 

a maniacal smile, 

 

or perhaps Captain America saving the day,

 

but two seconds later you might see the Captain transform into a hideous mantis-beast, his back wiggling as he breaks out of his skin to better pursue you, with his insect beak all a-screeching.

 

Suddenly he's a stealthy ninja, silently creeping up the back alley to take the vermin crime gang unawares. Not a sound does he make until he pops into the head of some other villainous creature, or death defying hero.

~~~~~

Did I mention that I have another son? His name is Braden, and if you asked him to give you a nice smile for his Yellowstone River portrait, this is what you'll likely get, every single time:

I have two sons, and I love them both for entirely different reasons!

Far From Perfect Over Spilled Milk

Do you ever do anything as a parent that just kind of makes you feel awful inside? I did tonight, read on dear reader, read on...

So I was at home spending time with the kids tonight. And Mary was out with the girls. Earlier Lisa called and said, Oh Jimmy, are you all alone and babysitting tonight? At which point I told her, no, that fathers don't "babysit," fathers father, and spend time with their kids. As if I were a hired hand for my children! But that is one for another evening.

So all was going well until Braden spilled all of his milk all over the kitchen floor. Now, normally I don't get mad, I mean, accidents happen to all of us right? But the way that this particular accident happened really could have been avoided. He was holding a sippy in just his teeth and flinging his head all around as if he were Ozzy and we were recreating Crazy Train.

Add that to the fact that at that very moment I heard a terrifying scream coming from upstairs, no doubt from Lissie who had been taking abuse from Scott.

And so I got mad. I did. I barked at Braden, "Dang it! Clean this mess up now! I'm going to save your sister!" And I ran past little Sarah, with those tiny, wide eyes that were just about to fill up with instant tears that rip at your soul.

When I got things settled upstairs, I came back down to check on the damage in the kitchen. Both of the wee ones had gathered all of the washcloths (about a dozen) and were doing their best to mop up the split milk. When I came around the corner I was surprised to see them doing this but more surprised to realize that this was my command and that they were merely obediently following orders.

I resolved right then and there to try and not let small accidents ruffle my feathers and get in the way of what is most important in family life, expression of love and an environment conducive to receiving love.

I know that I am far from perfect. Times like these just show me how far.