So I am the lucky mom of 3 boys, a ginger, a blonde, and a “might be dark-blonde-might be brown” brunette. All three are left-handed.

I am right-handed, and completely useless when it comes to teaching them how to write, eat, draw, throw, and generally anything that involves the left side. Luckily, my husband is left-handed, so when they go to Kindergarten, he can do all their homework with them.


So out of my three boys, Tyler, the younger twin, is probably going to be a scientist, engineer, doctor, or Destroyer of the Universe. I’m ok with any of those scenarios.

I was a teacher for many years, and between teaching in the classroom and music lessons, I’ve had students from ages 3 to 55, and I’m not sure I’ve ever met a young one more interested in how things work. He LOVES to take things apart, put them back together, take them apart, put them back together, ad nauseum.

He’s like my husband in this respect, except (as far as I know) my husband doesn’t fall to the floor wailing, screaming, and kicking if he can’t figure out how to put a lid back on, or is unable to squeeze a 9 inch Batman toy into a 3 inch helicopter cockpit.

The anger. Ohhhh, the anger.

When he was little, he used to bang his head on the floor repeatedly when something didn’t go his way. It would be scary to see for any child, but he has hemophilia, and the lumps he would cause himself to get would make him look like a rhino. It’s really hard to convince people that your two-year old did that to himself, and you’re not an abusive monster.

On top of that, it looked like I beat him and not his twin. I probably should have put prosthetic horns on the other so they would match. They ARE twins, after all.

As serious as this child is, he has the sweetest smile, and at almost 5 years old just made it to 30 pounds. His nickname is “Teeny Tiny Tyler” which he thinks is funny. He was tiny when he was born and the NICU nurses ironically nicknamed him “Mr. T” which has been his usual name ever since.

He looks up to his “older” twin at the same time he tortures him. Andy has taken to writing Tyler’s name on a “bad list” whenever he gets mad, and Tyler sobs uncontrollably when this happens. He won’t believe me that Andy actually has no power over lists, but there it is.

He is amazing in so many ways. His giggle could make Ebenezer Scrooge crack a smile. His excitement for simple things from a sip of strawberry milk, or an oatmeal pie is contagious. When he’s sick, he doesn’t complain, he just thanks us for taking care of him then orders us out of the room so he can sleep.

He bruises easily and they can become quite ugly, but he doesn’t complain about pain. His brother, Andy, on the other hand, needs a band-aid for everything (one time for a paint stain he insisted was blood). He is a rule follower, likes things to be a certain way, and knows instantly if I took a different road to our destination.

His arms and legs flail when he runs, and it’s amazing he has any balance whatsoever. He loves watching Goosebumps, ParaNorman, and other “scary” shows, and absolutely loves to play with his dad’s Halloween decorations. So much that even in March we have a plastic witch, pumpkin, and a skeleton toy that’s as big as he is that he carries around and takes to bed with him.

Right now he is moping around the house because he broke the arm of his “skellington”…my husband is sad too seeing as how he’s had that thing for about 25 years.

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I want to hold and hug and protect this little tiny thing all the time, but he’s way too macho for those kind of shenanigans. He does tell me I’m the “best girl ever”, so that’s definitely enough for me.

I’m lucky to have the crazy kids I do, even though they drive me nuts.

Face it, they are a product of their environment, and I might just be certifiable.