If you've known me for any length of time, you've probably heard me (lovingly, semi-jokingly) refer to my children as "wimpy." If you picture my household of boys as the stereotypical group of climbing, rough-housing, dare-devil male monkeys, well . . . you're wrong. While Calvin is out to prove every word of this paragraph incorrect, my first four boys are, by and large, sitters: they love to draw, read, play board games and card games, build things out of LEGO and magnatiles, etc. With the exception of Levi's newfound interest in soccer last year, they are, for the most part, artists and intellectuals, and I've never felt the need to push them too hard in other areas. Until this summer, that is. We simply couldn't ignore their need to know how to swim any longer. (Actually, I personally don't care much, as I don't find swimming all that enjoyable. Give me a novel and a lounge chair in the shade, hands down, every time. But my husband and mo...
Life with five sons and one little lady, to the glory of God.