I returned from a meeting yesterday to find myself stepping gingerly over light sabers as I surveyed the Lego world strewn across my kitchen counter. Closing a cupboard door randomly left open by an absent-minded male, I thought to myself, "I am the only woman in this house. I live with all guys. That's sort of weird." (But I like it. I am the princess. And the glue.)
In the afternoon, James and I perused Wookieepedia to find and print all the rest of the Star Wars characters we didn't print last time. Partway through this expedition, Daddy meandered into the room and pulled James's feet out from under him. Game on! James abandoned me to pounce on his dad, and with Jonathan soon joining in, the three of them wrestled on the living room floor for what seemed like hours. I hid my head behind the computer screen in order to keep my mouth from issuing commands like "be careful!" and "hey!" and "watch out for the end table!" I'm such a girl.
Last night, we found Episode II: Attack of the Clones on TV, and the boys immediately settled down to watch it while they munched on the homemade pizza Daddy made for them.
Being the protective mom that I am, I fast-forwarded through the part where Anakin watches his mom die and then slaughters all the sand people (what I call them), officially known as Tuskan raiders (what James calls them). The boys looked at me oddly, wanting to know why I had done that. But I stood my ground.
When the battle droids systematically razed the Jedi army and only a few Jedi survived, I tensed in my chair, worried that the boys would freak out about all the killing. But no. They jumped out of their chairs, brandished their imaginary light sabers, and danced around the living room destroying battle droids only they could see. Oh. I reminded myself with a sigh that they are boys and probably like that sort of thing. Okay. I glanced at Dad to see if he was concerned. He wasn't. I followed his lead.
But I just *had* to prepare them for a particularly nasty part coming right up in the battle with Count Dooku, so right before Anakin brazenly left Obi Wan's side and ignored his Jedi master's instructions, I warned, "This is the part where Count Dooku cuts off Anakin's hand."
I was totally unprepared for James to stand on his head in his chair, feet dangling in the air, and reply in his this-is-so-cool voice, "Actually, he cuts off his whole arm!"
"Yeah, cool!" yelled Jonathan.
Obviously, the boys were okay with dismemberment.
Feeling swept away in the tide of male bonding around me, I glanced down at my pink, glittery, flowery shirt and sighed again. Could I survive as the wife of a burly man and the mother of two decidedly all-boy sons?
And then James made everything okay. He skipped over to my chair, crawled into it, and snuggled down next to me, laying his head on my shoulder and patting my cheek with his little fingers.
My eyes misted over. There he was. My little boy. I kissed the top of his head and held on tight for all I was worth.