Yesterday I took the boys shopping for swimming suits. It used to be that I could just bring something home in their size and they'd wear it. No questions asked. Now they're all "opinionated" and "have they're likes and dislikes." They want it to fit "just right" and not "be see through" (the nerve....I know).

Taking all three boys shopping at once is not something I do often. Here's an example of why not. It took a few hours. No one found what they wanted at JC Penny, only Camdon found what he wanted at Target, and only Carter found what he wanted at Old Navy (Jamon by the way just gave up and agreed to just wear Camdon's old one....bless his heart!)

Anyway. while we were standing in line to pay at Old Navy a very young, new mom who hadn’t a clue, a total stranger, a sweet young lady turned to me and said with disgust in her voice: "Uugh! Three boys....I don't know how you do it."

What is this? Is this a question? Does she really want to know how I do it? Is this a statement? Does she just want me to know how grossed out she is by my situation?

And let's pause right here to discuss my situation. As far as I'm concerned I have the PERFECT situation! Three kids isn't really a big deal. We have friends with five, six, seven kids. Quite honestly...three is for quitters. And three boys is perfectly fine by me. Yes, boys are harder when they're little, but MUCH easier when they're older.

(A.K.A. the current state of affairs at our house.)

They are relatively low maintenance and we're pretty much drama free around here. Ask my friend Susan who has four girls if she's drama free at her house. I can tell you right now the answer will be a resounding NO! And having all boys is perfect for when Jamon can't find a swimming suit he wants. He can just go shopping in Camdon's dresser. It saves us money. My friend Kayla has four boys and my friend Jennie has five boys, so I don't even remotely feel that I need unsolicited sympathy from strangers at the store about my "situation".

So, I just looked at her.......then looked over at my boys (who were modeling sunglasses for each other) and simply said: "I love them."

She grabbed all of the dresses she was buying for her perfect little baby girl, put her in her stroller, and went and stood in a different line.

Whatever, lady! Just wait until your little girl is in middle school and is crying and yelling she can't go to school because her hair isn't perfect and threatening to call the cops on you when you take her curling iron away. You'll still love her, but you'll be wishing she was a boy.