The way things change

I've written several times about how differently I'm parenting my youngest kids than I did my first two.

See, my older ones were 6 and 4 when we got started again. Not old by any means, but the second round of babies were 17 months apart and then 14 months apart. So having a 4-year break sounds huge for me now.

I don't think I was ever really high-strung, but being surrounded by laid-back mamas and having a big family will force anyone to chill out a bit.

At Christmastime, 2006, my older son was 4. My husband started talking about how badly he wanted to get him a gun & holster, like a cowboy. I argued and argued. "We can't teach him that violence is okay, that it's cool! A GUN???"

(sidenote: I'm not making any political statements about the second amendment here. That's not the point...)

Christmas came. My son opened a present and found the guns inside of their holsters, fake gunshot sounds & lights amazing him. He LOVED them. I sat there praying that he wouldn't become a murderer someday.

Today, my big boy is almost 8. He doesn't talk obsessively about killing people, by the way.

My little boy is 2.

And on any given day, you can find my little guy running up to me with a light sabre or toy gun or stick, yelling, "Mommy, I kill you!"

And I'm not cringing, not praying that he won't really kill me one day. I'm falling to the ground, holding my side in pretend agony, howling about how he "GOT ME!" and then jumping up and "killing" him.

Oh, gracious...