I don't really understand boys. And I'm ok with that. None of the kids I ever babysat were boys. I have a sister and my nearby cousins during my growing up years were all girls. Boys are rough, dirty and loud. I'm sure some girls are, too. They have this need to battle, play with guns, build things, destroy things and test their strength. And really, I'm ok with that, too. We have foam swords, nerf guns, bows and arrows and we allow this type of play.
However, I draw the line at hurting each other. When my boys "battle", I want them to be the good guys and on the same team, protecting each other, helping each other. Well, today things got a little out of hand and apparently the 2 older brothers were leading a "battle" with 2 neighbordhood friends and they were all against Preacher Man.
It didn't end well.
Preacher Man ended up with a bald spot and 5 stitches.
Luckily, he's going to be fine, but it could have been so much worse.
There's been a whole lot of talk this evening about showing love and being like Jesus. (Now this afternoon in the heat of the "battle" there was some yelling going on by me, for which I'm not proud.)
Parenting is really hard. During my yelling and panic as blood was pouring down Preacher Man's head and neck, I'm sure I wasn't seeming too much like Jesus either. The two neighborhood boys probably didn't think of Jesus when I dismissed them from my backyard. Tony probably didn't think of Jesus when he got a frantic message on his work voicemail from me regarding blood and pcv pipes.
Luckily, Jesus forgives - including me.