Boys Aren't Men

I'm not an overly protective sort of mom. I don't usually worry or fret. I don't have a lot of rules, like eating in certain rooms, not watching certain shows, or not throwing aerosol cans into the bon fire. My kids don't have play clothes and church clothes. But they do have clothes, so I consider them lucky.

Even I got worried, though, when I dropped them off to work last week. They were doing a lot of work at a house that had been neglected for years. Some of their jobs were to paint the basement with waterproof paint, remove the vine from the brick exterior of the house, cut down the overgrown bushes, weed whack and mow, and spray the weeds. It was hard work. It was man work.

My boys are not yet men. Which was the main thought in my head when I saw the tools they unloaded from the truck to do the jobs on their list. It started fine with screwdrivers and paintbrushes. But when they both grabbed a chainsaw, fear seized my soul.

"Wait!" I commanded in my mom voice. "You guys aren't using those chainsaws are you?"
"Well, how else can we cut down these bushes?" they asked, logically and innocently.
"Any other way!" I told them. "You may use a regular saw, or a butter knife, or even a herring."
"Mom!" they groaned. "We know how to use chainsaws. Dad taught us."

I felt proud of myself as a mother when I drove away after forcing them to agree to a contract signed with their own blood stating that they would UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES use man tools without a REAL LIVE MAN watching them, and they would only use such tools in a way that would make a responsible mother HAPPY.

Then they sent me these pictures.

I've lost control.