My husband is a good man. He puts up with A LOT.  He and I are opposite in so many ways.

He is a detail man.  An everything-has-a-place-man. An if-you-put-things-right-back-where-you-found-them-we-wouldn’t-have-this-problem-kind-of-man. I am NOT. I try. But I am more of a free spirit when it comes to organization, especially when it comes to housework. And, of course, my husband is essentially right. (Albeit in a housework-utopian-society-kind-of-way.) But, as for me, there is always SOMETHING that comes up to thwart my efforts.

Let’s go on a journey through 10 minutes of the mess and chaos of my life shall we? One example – a pair of my running shoes that has not yet made it back into the closet. So, theoretically, I should have been able to take them off my feet and toss them into the closet. Oh, I mean, lay them gently into the designated running shoe cubby. Yeah.

So here is what happened instead. I took them off…  At that precise moment, my son yelled dramatically from the other room. I sprint over to him and find that he and his brother are pounding each other over a Light Bright design. I settle the argument and notice hundreds of Light Bright pieces all over the floor. Oh dear. (Dad won’t be amused by that.) So we make a game of it and pick them up. In the middle of that the phone rings. It is my friend reminding me it is my turn to bring snack to soccer. I run down the stairs to see if I even have something that would qualify as a snack. Nope. Put it on the list of things to do. I then notice the laundry is finished. I put a new load in and take the other out and begin folding it. Kids come running downstairs and want a drink. I get them a drink. They spill juice everywhere and I clean it up. I begin emptying the dish washer because I can’t even put the juice cups away due to the overflowing sink with dirty dishes in it. I am halfway through this task when hubby comes home.

So this is what my husband sees: Kitchen a mess. Sticky floor. Laundry strewn everywhere. Light Bright pieces not picked up. (Because they decided to dump them out again while I wasn’t looking.) And then, of course, he tripped over my shoes. Yeah, those shoes. The ones that should have been put away as soon as I took them off my feet.

And then he says…. “Jen. Why don’t you just put these away right when you take them off?”

There is something you need to know about me – I am a mom of male children. That is incredibly important for you to know going forward. The reason why it is important is because it is the framework for my life. I am surrounded by testosterone.

Wanna know why my blog has so much pink in it? Mom of boys. Wanna know why I am obsessed with running? Mom of boys. Wanna know why I am living a life of chaos and confusion? Well, you get my point.

For the purposes of blogging about my children, I tend to call them by the nicknames Tiny Ninja and Young Jedi. There are a couple of reasons for this – the first is just in case there are any crazies out there… and the second is because it just FITS them.

Tiny Ninja is my oldest. He is in third grade. Like any good childhood Ninja he is skilled various different types of combat like:

• Refusing healthy food items
• Rebuffing my continued pleas to tidy his room
• Rejecting the notion of bathwater

Remarkably, he has also mastered the Ninja skills of stealth and silence at an early age. This is especially useful when stealing cookies and other inappropriate food items right before dinner.

Young Jedi is in second grade. And like any good Jedi, he knows everything about everything. Just ask him. He is wise beyond his years. Traditionally Jedi Masters use the FORCE to fight for peace and justice. Mine is no different. He can routinely be found using FORCE as well as being outspoken regarding fairness and how it relates to his own life in the universe:

• “Hey, he got more time on the video game!”
• “That’s not fair! It is my turn.”
• “They have more soda than me!”

Welcome to my world.