For all intents and purposes, I’m pretty simple when it comes to material things. I abhor the mall and  I couldn’t care less about the most popular trend or “Keeping up with the Jones.” I sacrifice to do for my kids. I must admit, I love to decorate and I do take pleasure in incorporating my latest bargain or thrift store find, into our humble abode.

In the last month we have had to replace a toilet seat and the mechanism on the screen door that keeps it from both slamming and blowing off onto our front lawn. Seriously? Why are boys so rough and destructive? I know that it’s not intentional, but it has become obvious to me that they use the same amount of force to reach under a lamp shade and turn off a light as they do to make a slap shot to score the winning goal in a hockey game.

I’m pretty sure that the writing was on the wall even when my kids were small. I was pregnant with Marc and busy fussing over the nursery while I set Kevin (6) and Eric (3) up with brand new bunk beds, sheets and matching comforters.

One wintry, cold night after putting the boys to bed, I stepped out of the shower and reached for the most luxurious, plush bathrobe I have ever owned…a gift from my mother. As I wrapped the bathrobe around my shivering body and reached for the tie…wait, I can’t grab the tie…left side, right side…Where is the tie? Never mind. Are Kevin and Eric still up?

I wrap the bathrobe around myself the best that I can and head into the boy’s room. I turn the light on and begin to say, “Boys, it’s time for bed…go to sleep you have school…” I stop mid-sentence. Hanging from the top bunk is the tie to my new bathrobe. I frantically try to unfasten it, but the knot is so tight it is impossible to do so..

“Why is the tie to my new bathrobe attached to the top rail of your bunk bed?” I ask, exasperated, as I continue trying to free it.

“We were playing spider man.” Kevin replied.

“Just go to sleep.” I quip.

“Kevin is spitting at me!” Eric states before I exit the bedroom.

“You’re spitting at your brother from the top bunk, Kevin?” I ask.

“He tried to spit at me first!” Kevin says.

“There is no spitting in this house!” I state as I leave the room feeling defeated. “Please go to sleep.”

I stop in the hallway for a moment, realizing that I will have to cut my bathrobe tie off of the bunk bed rail and reluctantly, throw it out. Oh, well. The ending of something nice I once owned. Little did I know, the beginning of all of the endings, of the nice things I will ever own in years to come.

I pause an extra few minutes just to make sure that the spitting war has ceased.

Silence.

Then I hear my son Eric state, “Ya know Kevin, mom is right. Some kids don’t even have spit and you’re wasting all of yours.”

I stifle my laughter and think, God I love my boys.