I sit down to do some work at the computer, and there it is: the mangled, operated on contents of my favorite orange calculator. My boy always has to find out how something works, and this usually involves a screwdriver or tool of some sort. There are such differences between raising girls and boys. Sadie wouldn't sleep in her bed last night because she saw a spider up in the corner (and I have to agree with her), but Finn threw a fit when I crushed an eight legger because he wanted it for a pet.
Cece, who at three eschewed the outdoors for books, "There are bugs out there, mama," has become a fearless exuberant lover of all things animal. She, unaware of personal space, will shout in your ear, "There's a wild turkey!" at any large bird she sees. Whenever I worry that I don't know how to be a mother to a boy, I realize girls are just as challenging. But at least with girls, you don't have to worry that the chair you are about to sit in has been stripped of its screws.
