I was helping my oldest son, Noah, with his homework the other night. Nothing new there. We do it regularly because I’m a teacher (once a teacher, always a teacher) and well, I teach. So. As we are working our way through the annoying frustrating wonderful math problems, he is just gnawing on his fingernails. He’s literally going to town on them. And not only that, but actually chewing at the very skin because said fingernails are gone. Kaput. Nonexistent. I told him to quit doing that because it’s nasty and makes his fingers look bad. I laugh even as I write this because I am the Kettle calling the Pot black. I’ve been a nail biter for most of my life. Tis true. As soon as I told him to stop doing that, he shouted, “Mom! I can’t. It’s an addiction!” And you know what motherly, wonderful, God-centered encouragement I said to him? I said with a smile creeping onto my face, “Oh, babe, you know I’m gonna have to blog about this, right?” “No, Mom! Please don’t. I don’t want people laughing at me!” he shouted. I said, “Buddy, you’re takin’ one for the team here. This will be a great blog post.” Then there’s Seth, my very flamboyant five-year old who loves the camera and will do anything for a grin and shot at stardom. They are so different, yet equally wonderful and engaging. I adore them both so much but at the same time they attack my heart so differently. Being a mom rocks.