"We're friends, right?"

Greetings, my dear readers--(aka close family)! I'm going to be honest here at the beginning of this new venture, and just let you know, that this is my very first attempt at blogging, and I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it. I think it fair to say that I'm not an expert, per se, on anything. I don't have proven advice to offer, or poems to share, or ... coupons. And I'm certainly not blogging to impress or depress anyone. 

But, that said, I do have three truly fabulous and adorable boys, who are growing up way too fast, and who are quite photogenic (See photos below).

James (3), William (5), and Peter (7) on Easter Sunday with new matching shirts that they still like to wear.  Yes!

 I also have the best husband in the entire tri-state area, nay the universe, and we do have some pretty great experiences together in our little bungalow.

Ticking Jamesie. A favorite pastime for both father and son.

Maybe it's just that I don't want to forget right now. Yes, maybe I just feel that recording and sharing slices of my life right now is a way to preserve it and even appreciate it a little more.  Or maybe I know that my hand-written journals are completely illegible and my posterity will go mad if they decide to try to read them to figure out who I was and what I was doing in 2014. If you are reading this in the future, and you've tried to read my stack of old journals first, I'm sorry.  I usually wrote late at night, and I was tired. Sometimes the light was already turned off.

This blog will be legible.  It will be full of photos and experiences of my days. It may not be brilliant or helpful.  But we're friends, right?

Boys and Pumpkins on our Bungalow Porch (just had to capitalize those words!)

And that is what William asked James at least two dozen times today.  Maybe more.  "We're friends, right, James?"  

And James would answer in an abnormally high voice, "I'm a baby tiger.  Baby tigers don't have friends."

 William (in front smiling) and James (putting sand on his brother's head) at the Oregon coast this summer.

And William would explain to him that baby tigers could have lots of friends, and they are really cute, and people like them, and we like the tigers at the zoo, and so couldn't they be friends, please?  And James would answer the very same way, more emphatically, and in an even higher voice, "Baby tigers don't have friends!" And William would get very angry and a little teary, and it's at this point that I would step in and tell James, that if he can't be a friendly baby tiger, then he simply can't be one. We only allow friendly baby tigers in our home-- obviously.

This happened again and again today, (we spend a lot of time at home together-- the three of us) and James would usually end up finally allowing William to be his friend, only because he wanted to continue being a baby tiger.  And William would be happy and reach over to take James' paw and say, "Friends forever!" in the sweetest voice you've ever heard.  And James would squeak and say, "Goo goo, ga ga, rawr!"

William and Pikachu at Lagoon-- with eyes.

I think this baby tiger friend conflict today shows the personalities of my two youngest boys so very well. William wants everybody to be friends. He is the most empathetic, kind-hearted child I've ever met.  He's only 5, but he uses diplomacy and compromise better than most adults do--to help all his brothers or friends (or parents, on occasion) get along. In stories with bad guys, William can't wait for the bad guy to see the light and turn into a good guy.  He asks questions about why the bad guys are bad, and thinks they probably were never taught by their parents how to be good.  He chooses things he knows his brothers will like, when he gets to pick the treat or the show or the activity.  And he simply has to be friends with James-- tiger claws and all.

James eating his breakfast.  He won.

James is three, and he acts like it.  He is full of life and energy and is more than a little stubborn at times.  He knows what he wants and he will try and get it--even if it is up high on a shelf.  He climbs-- much more than his brothers did.  He wrestles, and bounces, and does scary things, and hits his head a lot.  He is not afraid to ask loudly at church, "Why he have no hair!?" while pointing to the bald man two rows ahead of us. He is loving and kind and sweet when he wants to be, and is a tiger or a puppy or a fox when he wants to be.  But when he loves, he loves fiercely, and makes me laugh every single day.  He wakes up saying, "I need a chocolate bar." And because I am getting older he usually gets one, after breakfast (sometimes).  That's the kind of focus James has.



So the tiger baby forever friendship, though sweet, usually only lasts an hour, before William, needing reassurance, will ask James again, "We're friends, right?"

Nope.  Not anymore.  Not until Mama Tiger steps in....

So the moral of the story is,  if you must be a baby tiger, be a friendly one, and if you want to motivate your mother to help you and be on your side, use tears and not a shrill tiger "goo goo".  And if you need friendship keep asking.  And we're friends, right? Please?