My sweet baby got hurt tonight. The trainer called from the field, and my heart dropped. "You'll have to take him to a doctor immediately."
His entire life flashed before my eyes.
The moment I turned from the wonder on Joe's face to see his squashed red squalling face.
The first time he fell on his head.
The feeling that blossomed in my heart every time that green-eyed, chubby baby reached for me.
The hurt in his eyes when I bit him to make him stop biting Adam.
The night he howled through every Maus Foods aisle because he was damn well going to have Macaroni and Cheese.
His first day of school when he was just a little nervous.
The second day when he was NO WAY letting go of the bus seat to go back to That Place ever again.
The happy little grin when he scored his first ever soccer goal.
The happier little grin when he scored four goals in the second half.
I could fill a book about this boy of mine. I could fill a second, slightly longer book about the other.
My heart paused in those moments between "you'll have to take him to a doctor" and seeing firsthand that he was fine.
I've failed many times with my boys.
They don't care.
I studied their strange boy world and learned.
They taught me to ask forgiveness -- but more about how to accept it.
They ran to me with outstretched arms and brimming hearts many, many times -- and I learned how to open my arms and heart.
They wrap me in their own version of sweaty, hearty boy love every single day -- then sit on me to prove their manliness.
I'm so thankful God chose these boys for me.
He's okay. He's a Kounkel. They don't bleed. They get up and keep playing.