What else would I talk about? Daughters? Don’t have any of those, unless you count my daughter-in-law’s. I love them but I didn’t raise them. Sons – God always knows best and He knew that I would have gone crazy raising girls. Before seventh grade, I was a tomboy. Even after sixth grade when girls were interested in fashion, doing their nails and makeup I wasn’t.
Okay back to my sons. When I was pregnant, I didn’t care what the baby was as long as it was healthy. My mom, who raised all girls, cried when she found out it was a boy. She said, “What do you do with a boy?” The first time she held him in her arms, the word girl fled from her mind and it was pure love. Each one came along close to two years apart and after three, we called it quits. I wasn’t going to be like my grandmother who had six strapping boys. I saw the writing on the wall and three was good.
They were the cutest (of course I’m biased), stair stepped, tow-headed boys. Everybody in the neighborhood knew the Chambers boys. Don’t know if that was a good thing or not. But don’t think for a moment that they were angels. If two were playing, and it didn’t matter which two, they were as good as gold, but add the third in the mix, you had mayhem.
Elementary school wasn’t so bad, but high school? There was a sprinkling of good memories such as football games, Thanksgiving’s and Christmas’, but the rest was what tried my soul and kept me on my knees praying them through those years. I said in a previous post that God watched over my boys and I know they wouldn’t be where they are today if He hadn’t.
My oldest was a pretty boy with silver white curls. He was so pretty everyone thought he was a girl no matter how I dressed him, so I had to break down and get his curls cut off. His curls didn’t come back until Junior High School and by then he was sporting a nice thick goatee.  Still an awesome artist, I have several of his paintings in my home. He was fast and soccer was his game. Just when the other team thought, they had a goal he stole the ball and beat everyone back up the field.
 My middle one was rough and tumble and when I say tumble that’s what he did. At 18 months old, he had stitches on his eyebrow from falling into the hinge on a door.  At two and a half, we were at Niagara Falls when he fell and hit his lip on a metal bar and we spent hours in the emergency room getting stitches. At four, he got a black eye for rough housing on the bunk beds. So football was his game, and he loved defense. All these incidences must have been good for him, because he is the only one that has not blown out an ACL in his knee.
My youngest was the independent one. Nice word for stubborn. He didn’t want anyone helping him, but if he absolutely needed help it always had to be me. Not only was he the youngest, but he was the skinniest. He was the talker and his mouth was his weapon.  Wielding the tongue like a sword, he struck using it to get his brothers in trouble and I fell for it every single time. He loved football and later enjoyed playing rugby.
We made it through those “informative years” by the skin of our teeth (love that cliché) and today they are happy, healthy, hardworking, and well-adjusted members of society. Can’t wait till they have kids, because payback’s a —–! I don’t swear so you fill in the blank

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