Building a fire

I brought the camera with me on our Labor Day camping trip.  I was just too lazy to take any pictures. 

I did manage to snap a few of Adam trying to build a campfire.  

Then Bob stepped in to help.

When I compare this picture to pictures taken less than a year ago, I'm stunned by the difference. 

No more boys at my house anymore.....only young men.

Sunflowers

More Senior Pics

I wanted to take pictures that would have personal meaning to Clay. 
His has always loved working with his Papa. As a little boy, he spent many afternoons watching his Papa run the bulldozer or backhoe.
Years later he learned how to operate the machines and helped his Papa on Saturdays and summer vacations. He loves those machines and the memories attached to them.  
This picture was taken on the dirt road between his grandparents and great-grandparents house. He has made many trips back and forth on this road. He learned to drive a tractor and his truck on this road.  

He doesn't like to have his picture made. He wasn't thrilled about taking the time to "pose" for senior pictures. It wasn't until I mentioned that a certain girl leaving for college this week might like to have a few pictures of him. That got his attention and I was able to spend a sweet afternoon taking picture after picture.

Senior Year

Clay is a senior this year.  Instead of the usual stiff, formal pictures, I decided to take his senior pics.  

More to pictures to come.  (Maybe I can get him to show some teeth in a few pictures)

Last Saturday

our Sunday School class painted a house for a neighbor in need.  It was a good day.

Remember my high hopes?

Remember this post?

All that pampering is beginning to pay off.

A teenage boy babysitter

When I was pregnant with Adam, everyone would ask if I was hoping for a girl.

I was. 

Really, really bad.  

I was surrounded at home by two little boys under the age of 4. 

Noisy, active, messy little boys. 

Who I loved dearly. 

Really.

They were (and are still) sweet boys.

They were  just noisy, active, and messy.  

One day I went in for a prenatal checkup.  I saw the new midwife and she asked the usual questions. 

How many children do you have?  

What are their ages? 

Boys or girls?  

Are you hoping for a girl this time?

The midwife then told me that she had five children.  Three boys and two girls. She said she understood how hard it was to raise little boys.  Little girls, she said, are a breeze.  They are quiet and play ever so nicely with each other.  Little boys on the other hand love to play rough and are always into something.  You can never take your eyes off of them.  

Now that her kids were teenagers she felt the boys were much easier than the girls.  She told me that eventually the noise, mess, and tendency to get into trouble will go away (or at least become more manageable).

Then she gave me the most practical advice.

She said the key to raising a teenage boy is to give him an old car.  One that needs lots of work. Tell him that if he can get it running, he can have the keys.  She said that  a good clunker will get you through the teenage years.  They won't come out from under the hood until they are 18. She called it her "teenage boy babysitter."

I thought of that story tonight when I looked out toward the shed and saw this sight: