I'd like to thank Sherry, sister-in-law, fellow blogger and kindred spirit, for planting the seed (it began to germinate at 2:30 this morning -- thanks a lot!) which has become today's post.




You Might Be The Mother of Sons If:

You've looked out the window just in time to see the "Full Moon Irrigation Company" watering the tree in your front yard.

Your car insurance doubled overnight without the thrill of being ticketed for driving Highway 20 like it was the German Autobahn.

You can repeat from memory the Cub Scout Promise, the Scout Oath, and all the best lines from Napoleon Dynamite.

The contents of the sandbox have gradually migrated indoors, one shoe full at a time.

Your washing machine can be mined for deposits of gravel, candy wrappers, Legos, chewing gum, missing homework assignments, pocket knives, and the occasional MP3 player.

You've considered buying stock in the following companies: Lego, Hotwheels, Band-Aid, Malt O'Meal, Tide, Skippy, Ovaltine...

You wonder if Fruit of the Loom conducted a feasibility study before deciding to manufacture white underwear in Boys sizes.

You're very familiar with "Puppy Scent," and you don't own a dog.

At least one of the six Star Wars films is viewed in your home every month.

George Lucas could be considered part of the family.

Your food budget is equal to the Gross National Product of a small country.

Someone is always hungry.

You've thought of having your children checked for tapeworms.

There's a mysterious hole of unknown origin in the upstairs window which corresponds perfectly to the size of a BB...hmmm.

You think the Father and Sons outing should be held monthly.

You've achieved the rank of Eagle Scout.

Your riding lawnmower has reached speeds that rival those of Nascar.

Clean is a relative term.

You have reminded a child that washing should include the use of soap.

You wholeheartedly supported your husband's idea to install a urinal in the boys bathroom.

Your housekeeping philosophy: Only clean bathroom fixtures you have personally used (see above).

After they clean their bedrooms, your laundry room resembles a scale model of the Himalayas.

Your children do not share your enthusiasm for the works of Jane Austen or William Shakespeare.

They are, however, quite familiar with Dav Pilkey, author of the Captain Underpants series.

No one argues about who gets to be the Princess!