“That song has one mean part. He says that no one can eat that sugar unless it's him. He's not nice. But I still like it.”

Sometimes I wish they could be five forever.

At dinner, the five year old tells his brothers about the mean guy who won’t share his sugar.

“He’s not singing about sugar. He’s singing about cupcakes!” laughs the 8 year old.

So of course I have to ask: “Cupcakes?”

“He says red velvet.”

I try really hard not to laugh, when the ten year old says, “It’s not about food. I think it’s about girls…”

I turn to the eight year old, “What do you think?”

“Cupcakes. Red velvet ones!”

So there you go. It starts somewhere between eight and ten.

Great Read: Being a Mom to a Boy

I love this post about mothering a teenage boy. To each their own...
She pulled me into the kitchen to show me a paint color and as soon as the kids were out of my view, it happened. I heard a thud. Next thing I saw was my husband frantically carrying in my son, crying and covered in bloody mud all over his face. I rushed him to the bathroom and washed him off to find that the source of the blood was his nose and a huge gash on his lip.  Life threatening? No. Not even a visit to the emergency room worthy, however, he was bloody and scared and five.

The mom shrugged me off when I asked for a washcloth to hold on his wounds to stop the bleeding, shooed her hand at me, “Meh, it’s nothing. You’ll see much worse that that! You should have seen when Michael broke his arm in three places and bones were sticking out of his skin.”

Read the entire post at