Fourteen Sixteen Seventeen Twenty

No, I haven’t forgotten how to count by 2’s. Those are the ages of the young men that live with me. I affectionately call them “The Boys”. They are awesome kids who I have had the privilege of parenting in whole or in part.

Meet Capt. Kirk - the twenty year old college sophomore. My brother and the oldest of The Boys. He’s Kirk because he writes beautiful lyrics like Kirk Franklin but can’t sing a lick, save for the choir where his voice blends in. He also used to “kirk” out at random times throughout his pre-teen years. You should have seen it; it was amazing and not in a good way. Very smart kid who drips of sarcasm, attitude, determination, vision, humor and sweetness. I spoiled him rotten as a kid and am probably mostly responsible for his love for all things candy. I’m not proud of this accomplishment. He doesn’t have a driver’s license and I wish he did. He’s creative, loves music and is a preacher - not in the “he lectures everyone all the time” way, but in the “…and God said He loves you” while standing behind a podium/pulpit way. A very inspirational fellow who definitely has a special calling on his life. But, he’s also a twenty year old college male. Yeah.

Next up is The First – my oldest son. Smart as a whip and stubborn as a mule. He’s been known to be the clown, most times to his detriment. He’s getting better with being mature and making momma proud. He has a heart of gold and is the first I call for help with anything. He says “yes ma’am” and “yes sir”, opens the door for females and is known to help old ladies with their bags. I must’ve done something right. He’s the self-proclaimed fashion guru of the house. He knows the hottest male fashion trends, refuses to buy cheap and could be known as a label ho. Champagne taste on a kool aid budget. He likes what he likes and won’t settle for less in anything. I love this and hate this about him simultaneously. Remind me to tell you the story about Easter suit shopping 2009. He taught himself to play the piano and is pretty good at it. He’s deathly afraid of cats and neither of us knows why. He loves all things food, except for potato salad. This kid will be 18 at the end of the year and is smelling himself. If you didn’t know, 18 is some sort of magic number. I’m pretty sure I heard him say something about being and man and doing what he wants. We all know how that goes, right? Right. He used to want to be a chef (and can cook really well) but couldn’t figure out how to be a millionaire within the first few years of graduating culinary arts school. He’s now going to be an entrepreneur who makes boat loads of money. I believe him because he’s a hard worker and determined.

Then we have The Last – my youngest son. There will be no more unless God wants me to be the virgin that brings the second coming of Christ. I’m not a virgin. So yeah, shop’s closed. He’s a cool dude. Very unassuming and off-the-cuff hilarious. He’s my affectionate kid. I picked him up until he was seven years old. Judge me if you want, I don't’ care. He’s mature for his age, very logical and very matter of fact. There are no cut cards with him. He hates that I follow him on Twitter because he can’t say what he wants (read: cuss). I don’t care if he does, by the way, because I’m pretty sure I cussed at his age. But out of respect for me he won’t tweet a curse word. But he has no problem re-tweeting a curse word. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. He’s clever and loves animals (except for cats) and the guitar. Taught himself how to play and I’ve been told that he’s actually as good as I think he is. He’s unconventional. Loves rice and potatoes, hates biscuits and is the laziest boy to walk the earth.

And last but certainly not least there’s Sly. My nephew. Tall, skinny and cute as a button. Very sensitive and very lovable. He’s the quiet type that you have to watch out for because well…he’s sly. He’d convince an Eskimo to go out and buy ice cubes with the money they made from building igloos. He’s got that pretty boy swag and I’m pretty sure he knows it and will use it to his advantage. He’s the baby of The Boys and they remind him of it - and treat him like it - often. When everyone is chipping in to complete a task, he’s the one that slipped away to use the bathroom 5 minutes into the task and never returned. You don’t realize this until you’re about 15 minutes from finishing said task. He’s a wrestling fan. Not the real professional sport, but the WWE type stuff. He thinks it’s real. o_O He loves the drums and also plays the piano. Self-taught, like the other ones. He’s also into that weird spooky stuff like those paranormal-type shows and horror movies. I am anxious to see his personality develops in the next couple of years. Should be interesting.

So, these are the men that sleep in my house. They make me happy, mad, frustrated, worry, laugh out loud, cry, pray, be thankful and love. They are so much more than the few lines that I’ve written about them here. But don’t you worry, I’ll be writing about them again.