A Photo Shoot

Brennan's First Field Trip

Today was a big day for our Brennan. He had his first ever field trip to a local farm for hayrides and pumpkin picking. And of course, he got to ride "the big bus."

Brennan commemorated the occasion by insisting he wear his very favorite orange shirt to school. I figure he's so cute that he even looks adorable in orange, but then, I may be a bit biased.

You are My Sunshine

I sing to the boys before bed. As they get older, we sing less and talk more, but Griffin still loves to sing songs with me as we snuggle up in bed. We sing through one of his favorites - "A Bushel and a Peck" and a few I have made up over the years, but we always end up singing "You are My Sunshine" as our last song before sleep.

Griffin sings softly along with me. We smile and giggle as we sing. Tonight we reached the verse in the song where you sing "so I hung my head and I cried."

I kept singing, but Griffin faltered. His smile wobbled, his eyes grew sad and he began to cry. His quiet tears turned into full blown sobs as he hugged me tight against him.

"Griffy - what's wrong?" I asked, perplexed, as I rubbed his back.

He gulped for air, brushed tears from his cheeks and cried, "I do cry Momma. I miss you when you go away, so I do cry. When you go away I get so sad. It hurts so I cry."

And then he sobbed all over again. I held him close to me and cried right along with him.

Finer Moments of Motherhood

After the snowflakes, the boys and I had a busy morning planned on Friday. First, we headed to Aidan's school to meet with his religion teacher. It was a special one on one meeting designed especially for me, the delinquent parent, for missing not one, but two, of the mandatory meetings to prepare our children for their first confession. I also missed the make up meeting. Yep, delinquent. And to a nun. Not just any nun, but the nun who taught me religion back in the day.

I should have been prepared for my very special make up meeting. But the snow excitement, a few work emails, and a skirmish over getting the boys dressed made us a bit late. So late that I forgot to brush the boys' hair. It was only as we raced into the school that I realized my sweater was on inside out.

I know. It's a miracle I make it through the day, isn't it. It's okay. I know.

I clutched my jacket close to my body. intent on hiding my sweater and quickly combed my fingers through the boys' hair. (And since you have seen Brennan's hair - you know that my hand comb job did no good. No good at all.)

We survived the meeting. (Although, I have a sneaking suspicion that the nun's intense discussion of the wonders of children attending church may have been brought on by our own lackluster church attendance record. And by lackluster - I mean no church attendance record.)

After leaving school, we rushed off to Wegmans to fill our very bare cupboards. I thought we made great time at our own grocery mecca as pulled up our overflowing grocery cart to the register line at 10:55 a.m., leaving us with more than enough time to get home to greet Aidan's bus at 11:30 am. (Yes, another half day. )

It should have been enough time. Definitely should have been. But I was struck by the curse of the SLOWEST grocery checker of all time. She scanned each item so deliberately, unbearably slow, and stopped every few seconds to glance at the store around her as if she was puzzled by her whereabouts. It was agonizing and I became paralyzed with fear as I contemplated that we might just not make it home in time.

We pulled out of the store parking lot at 11:25 and I was in full blown panic. I started repeatedly dialing family members in hopes of catching someone who could get to our house to get Aidan. I reached my Aunt Nancy who assured me she would drive to my house. I then called Chris, hysterical, to inform him that he had married the very worst person in the whole world to mother his children.

And then the bus garage called Chris on his other line. The bus garage called to tell him they were at our driveway and no one was home. My poor sweet boy was standing in our driveway waiting, just waiting, for anyone to come get him.

This was not one of my finer mothering moments.

Chris assured the bus garage that a family member was on their way and then clicked back to me, his hysterical wife, to convince me that Aidan would need not extended therapy to recover from this incident.

I calmed down as we got closer to our house. As I did, I realized that Brennan and Griffin had not said a word during the whole escapade. I asked them if they were okay and they both quietly said yes.

After a moment of silence, Brennan said softly, "Mommy?"

"Yes B?" I asked.

Brennan continued intently and quietly, "Mommy, I have to ask. I just have to ask. Now that they have him. The bus people? Now that they have him and we don't? Will they give him back to us mom? Can we get Aidan back?"

Great. I have not only scarred my seven year old, but my four year old too. Definitely not one of my better mothering days.

First Snow 2009

The boys were shrieking with glee at 6 am this morning. I rushed out of bed, annoyed at the noise and intent on making them all go back to bed, when I realized they were shouting that it was snowing.

Snowing. SNOWING!

The boys continued to jump up and down, giggling and laughing over the scattering of flakes dusting our yard. There was nothing to do at that point but to join in the laughter and try to forget it is still October. (and make a very large, very caffeinated pot of strong coffee.)

Aidan had to catch his bus to school, but as soon as Griffin and Brennan finished their breakfast they were donning their snow pants, parkas, boots and hats to get outside and soak up some snow. It must have been all of 7:35 am.




It had all melted away by noon, but the boys loved every second of our winter preview. I am happy to go back to fall, for a few more weeks at least.

Wild Hair Can't Be Tamed

This is how Brennan wakes up in the morning. His hair is beyond unruly. I have yet to figure out what he is up to at night that leads him to such spectacular bedhead. Until I do, I need some style solutions to tame this beast of a 'do.

Second Grade Open House

We attended Aidan's open house this evening. After visiting his classroom, admiring his desk and his artwork, he asked that we stop by his religion classroom. As we walked down the hall, he pointed out a poster he completed as an assignment for religion. He had to answer four different questions, designating a person who fulfills a certain trait to Aidan.

The first question:

"This person gives and spreads love to everyone around them:"

Aidan answered: "My mom."

Yeah, I don't remember any of the other questions. I was too busy blinking back tears and hugging Aidan tight.

I am so grateful he stills hugs me back just as tight as I hug him, even in a busy school hallway, crowded with people.

The Kids' Menu

As you get more experienced at this parenting gig, you definitely look at the years past and understand you would chose to do some things differently if you had the opportunity. One of the things I would do differently is the kids' menu we have been forced to serve at our house.

Aidan was not a huge eater as a baby. He loved to nurse. (He frequently nursed every two hours during the day as a baby! Yes, I never got to leave the house when he was an infant.) He loved his bottles. But food? He could have taken it or left it. I will never forget how excited Chris and I were to give Aidan his first taste of baby food. But surprisingly, his little face scrunched up with disappointment and severe distaste. He didn't love it. He ate because he had to, not because he loved to.

Aidan eventually got used to real food, but he did so with a severely picky appetite. He liked bland things - noodles with butter, bagels, plain crackers. As he grew up, he expanded his horizons slightly to include a few more foods, but more often than not they were kids' menu foods such as chicken fingers or pancakes. The day we discovered he liked meatballs was huge! Aidan's menu was so limited it often led to a great deal of frustration for all of us. And forget vegetables or fruits. He would eat raw carrots (when forced) and apples with all the skin cut off - that was it.

And then came Brennan. Brennan's first taste of baby food was a revelation. He was giddy as he threw back spoonful after spoonful of cereal, reveling in each taste. He liked anything and everything we gave him. It was an adventure for Chris and me to feed him. Brennan's favorite food at the age of one was blueberries. He would devour them by the fistful.

But as Brennan grew, he loved to emulate his big brother Aidan. If Aidan didn't like certain foods, then neither would Brennan. Slowly, our good little eater decided he too would only eat off the kids' menu. (Except for steak. He always loved steak.)

Our home had become a fast food restaurant. We would have two dinners - the adult dinner for Chris and me and the children's menu dinner for the boys. It was frustrating, but we accepted it.

Enter Griffin. Griffin loves anything and everything. He will try any food you give him, eager to taste anything different. He loves fruits and veggies and if given a choice, he would prefer to have an apple or a sliced tomato over anything else. Last week we met my mom for lunch and Griffin shared her salad, digging into her greens with enthusiasm.

This was a revelation to us. We have a child who doesn't require a separate menu. In fact, Griffin doesn't really like the foods on the traditional kids' menu. (He was thrilled when many of the kid friendly restaurants we frequent added grilled chicken to the menu.) All in all, Griffin prefers to eat what we eat. The possibilities for dinner became endless.

A few weeks ago, I decided I was done with the kids' menu. I was done running the kitchen like a restaurant, particularly on the days I returned home, harried from a long day of work and patching together dinner like I am a short order cook.

My experiment was not easy at first. It involved lots of tears (from Aidan) and whining (from Brennan) and even a couple of trips up to their rooms without dinner at all. Chris and I held firm. We endured the tears, tantrums and whining for days on end.

Dinner is now a family affair. Not only will they eat normal every day dinners like meatloaf, pasta with sauce and tacos. But, last week they licked their plates after a dinner of sliced steak with a peppercorn and pomegranate glaze (I know!) and last night they were beyond enthusiastic over shells stuffed with chicken and artichokes.

Dinner is not a battlefield in our home anymore. If I knew then what I know now, the kids' menu would have never had a chance in our house.

Nighttime

I played tennis last night until 7:30. I got home and the boys were already in bed, but still awake. I checked on them one by one to say good night.

When I entered Griffin's room, his face broke into a huge smile, he gasped and said, "It's morning?!" He bounced on his bed, eager to begin another day.

I explained it wasn't morning yet because he had to go to sleep first. He laid down with his head on his pillow, quickly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Just as quickly, he opened up his eyes again and looked around as if the sun would shine through his curtains.

"It's morning!" He yelled.

I think the long days of winter, with little or no morning sunshine to herald the arrival of a new day are going to be hard for this child.

The Granite Chronicles

Two years ago, my aunt asked if Chris and I were interested in redoing our kitchen counter tops. We always thought we would redo them eventually, but were in no rush for an upgrade (or the cost of an upgrade!). But then she told us we could piggy back our order of fancy, pretty granite counter tops with an order being placed for a new hotel my family was opening. This would allow us to get new counter tops for about 90% off the retail price. 90%!!!

Suddenly, I really, really wanted new counter tops. I would have to be crazy not to NEED new counter tops at 90% off retail.

We hemmed and hawwed over samples and finally, picked out our new granite counter tops. It was done and I was very excited.

The granite comes over on a slow boat from China. I am not exaggerating. After many months, we receive word that our counter tops are here, in Buffalo, waiting for us to pick them up to deliver to our house from storage.

My excitement built as I fantasized about the installation of our new counter tops. But wait, there appears to be a problem. Granite is not only pretty, but it's pretty damn heavy too. And it is not something that you can just rent a truck from home depot to deliver. Oh no, granite needs a flat bed with a fork lift.

I was frustrated. I didn't even know I wanted new counter tops until the idea had been put into my head. And now, I wanted it done. I needed those counter tops. But our counter tops continued to languish in storage until we could figure out a way to get them delivered.

Another six months passes as we consider the delivery problem. (Okay, okay, Chris considers and I nag. This is our dynamic.)

Chris and I are out at a cocktail party one evening when a friend of my family's approaches Chris and says cryptically, "I hear you have a granite delivery problem."

Chris gives him an odd look and replies, "Yes, we do."

The friend nods, slaps Chris on the back, and says, "I know a guy who owes me a favor. Call me next week and we'll get it delivered."

Chris calls the friend who calls a friend who knows a guy with a flatbed and fork lift. The next thing I know we have a large crate of granite delivered to our driveway. It was so large it literally took up half of our driveway. (No, I have no idea why we are considered the white trash of our neighborhood. None at all. Our neighbors want new counter tops - they order them and have them installed stat. We get ours delivered from some guy and left in our driveway.)

After the granite is in our driveway, Chris realizes he needs help getting it into our garage. I mean, we live in a pretty nice neighborhood in whoville and all but we'd be crazy to leave a huge stack of granite piled up in our driveway ripe for the taking.

Chris recruits friends to come over on a Saturday morning to move the granite into the garage. Once it is unpacked and in the garage, we realize that a few pieces have broken. We also realize that the granite intended for the center island of our kitchen is much, much too short and way off on the measurements we sent to China.

Chris enters into negotiations with the Chinese granite people for new granite pieces. Another few months passes, until finally, he is successful and more granite is put on another slow boat from China. Meanwhile, the other granite pieces decorate our garage.

More months pass, and our new island counter top arrives. Chris recruits two friends to help him move the piece for the island from our garage to our kitchen and installs it himself. Oh, it's so pretty. It's looks lovely in our kitchen.

I promptly set about finding the perfect stools for our new kitchen island. I fell in love with the cutest stainless steel stools from Crate and Barrel. They were back ordered, but after two months, were delivered and practically gleam at their post.

But still, the rest of the granite continues to languish in our garage for month after month. I gently remind Chris that we need to get the granite installed. I recruit numbers from friends of people we could hire to do the granite installation, but months continue to pass without any new counter tops. (Our kids just got used to digging for their outside toys amidst many a stack of granite.)

Last month, I finally reached panic stages. I realized that at this rate we will not be able to use our garage this winter unless we move that granite out of the garage. And hello! We live in Buffalo! We need to use our garage! I have meltdown after meltdown until Chris assures me he is taking care of the installation.

A few weeks go by and Chris announces a friend knows a guy who knows a guy that can do the job. (Seriously.) Today is the big day! The old counter tops are set to be ripped out and the ones installed. I breathe a huge sigh of relief, content it is done. Finally, it is done.

Then Chris calls me at work.

"We may have a problem."

I shake my head furiously in denial. He continues, "The hole cut for the sink by the Chinese granite people is too big for a standard sink. We need to find a new sink and most likely special order it."

And the kicker? We can't go back to them for yet another new piece because almost two years has passed since the original order.

Be careful what you wish for. Be oh, so careful. I wished for new counter tops and I finally, after two years got them. But now, I have no sink. I have no dishwasher. I will be washing dishes in the laundry room for the next week or so while we wait for our new sink to arrive, specially ordered in the size we need.

I have no words.

Shopping for Orange

My cleaning of the closets led me to discover that Brennan had all of two pairs of pants that fit him. I do not normally clothes shop with the children. I prefer to do most of my shopping online or in brief bouts during lunch on my working days. But, fall is here and Brennan needs pants.

And that is how I came to go the mall on Friday with Brennan and Griffin. You haven't had fun until you have shopped with four year old and two year old boys.

My memories of shopping with the boys involves some form of stroller to harness them while I bribe them with a snack. It did not involve two children running wild through the mall with gleeful abandon.

Brennan decided that shopping for clothes meant he would have the opportunity to pick out the clothes he would like me to purchase. It was almost comical to see him wandering through the Gap picking out shirts and pants he liked. It was not comical to discover that he immediately vetoed any shirt that did not feature the blazing color of orange. If it didn't have orange, then he wasn't interested.

His fascination with orange also extended to my own clothes. I picked up a cute sweater and was considering an impulse buy when I turned to the boys to ask their opinion.

Brennan gazed at it thoughtfully, held the material between his hands and then said, "It'd look better in orange. Did you check if it comes in orange?"

Sigh. We made out okay. I managed to sneak in a few non-orange items of clothing. Now comes the hard part - convincing my strong willed four year old to wear them. Otherwise, my four year old is quickly going to look like a pumpkin or a hunter in training.

The Closet Weepies

I know my boys are growing. I spend alot of time bemoaning their growth at each milestone, shocked that they have evolved from babies into boys. But one of the hardest testaments of their growth for me to accept is the clothes seasonal changeover.

Yes, I am talking about cleaning out their closets. And yes, cleaning out their closets does make me cry. Every. Single Time. Every. Single. Season. It's a shocker, I know.

It never gets easier to accept.

I packed up Griffin's summer clothes today and waded through piles of fall hand me downs to stock his dresser drawers. I was hesitant to put many a shirt or pants in the give away pile because I didn't want to believe that my baby couldn't manage to fit into that darling little 3T outfit. But, he can't. He won't fit. And I have to give it away, because my baby is wearing size 4 clothes. He isn't a baby anymore.

It shouldn't come as a shock to me. I know this child. I see him grow. But it's the smallest, most concrete evidence of his milestones that make it the most difficult for me. It is such a push pull, this game of parenthood. I enjoy each new step for my children. I like the ease gained at their growth and independence, but also feel melancholy too.

It is impossible to express how a part of me can enjoy their growing up and the other part of me wants to cry at any sign of it.

This is how I came to be crying this morning while sitting on the floor of Griffin's bedroom amidst many a stack of toppling over clothes.

I still have two more boys' closets to go. Let's hope I handle them better.

The Executive's Wife

After much hard work and dedication, Chris's company has been growing. I am immensely proud of his success and even more happy that over the past two years, he has been able to add employees. (Employees who travel for him so he can stay home. Yea staying home! He still has to log some miles, but less miles can only be a good thing for family happiness.)

As another fantastic indication of his success, Chris's company was named to the Inc. 500 - a list of the 500 fastest growing privately owned companies in the U.S. He is number 315 on the list and I could not be more proud. I know how hard he works. It is a gift he is able to see hard and fast results for his hard work and dedication.

This week he headed to National Harbor, Maryland to attend the Inc. 500 conference. When he asked if I wanted to join him at the tail end of the conference to attend the awards ceremony and black tie gala, I jumped at the chance. And yes, I told him I couldn't wait to clap for him as he accepted his award. (But there was also a little part of my that got a little giddy at the thought of me in a hotel room alone all day long.)

And so this week, for Thursday and Friday, I got to be the Executive's Wife. It involved a cushy hotel room, much time alone and room service so I could lounge about in bed until ungodly hours of the day. It involved some shopping, a nice long walk and treating myself to lunch. It also involved reading as much as I wanted and taking naps just because I could.

I think I could get used to this Executive's Wife.

The black tie gala was superb. Chris got a very fancy award. We got to eat a gourmet meal and drink lots of wine.

But then, as with all things, the Executive's Wife vacation came to an end. Sigh. I returned to my life, which involves pre-dawn wake up times, grocery shopping and negotiating battles over light sabers. Maybe I could at least teach the kids to bring me room service? That'd be nice.

Whoville Camps Out

In addition to living in the town of Whoville, we may just live in the Whoville-iest neighborhood of all.

There is the neighborhood picnic, with the climbing wall and fire truck visit, the neighborhood Halloween parade and Halloween ghosting, and the 4th of July float (for which we are currently the reigning champion of Whoville - complete with traveling trophy.) Last night we added the neighborhood camp out.

A dozen or so families met up at one of our neighbor's houses to pitch tents in their backyard. The kids were giddy with excitement as they watched their parents carrying camping stuff to and from tents. It was luxury camping at its best. We ordered pizza delivered, toasted marshmallows on the fire pit, jumped our heads off in a giant trampoline and enjoyed an outdoor movie on a projection screen.

After a taste of camping Whoville style, this may have ruined my boys for true camping.

Lovely Friday

The boys and I had a great day today. It wasn't anything monumental, but just an all around nice day.

Aidan had a half day (yes, again. I know. Really!). We decided to surprise him by picking him up at school, rather than having him take the bus home. After grabbing Aidan at school, we went to the local Party City to soak up the spooky decorations and take a peek at the Halloween costumes.

I love holidays through the eyes of my children. The silly mummies hanging from the ceiling, the screeching plastic bats and the spooky music all made for three very excited little boys.

We celebrated the score of three Star Wars costumes, a Jango Fett and two Jedis, with lunch out at Red Robin. (That's what you get when you let the kids pick the restaurant.)

A day like this, a simple, nothing special really, sort of day are the days I love the most. Just a day soaking up my boys.

Dressed Up

Aidan spoiled me. For the past seven years of his life, he has allowed me to pick out his clothes and his outfits, without complaint. Sure, he has his favorite shirts, but if I lay out his clothes, he will wear them. And that is music to a mother's ears.

I hear horror stories from my friends with girls of Aidan's age. Girls who refused to wear anything that had certain colors or was a skirt or did not resemble a princess. I would laugh, breathe a deep sigh of relief for the wonder of boys. Boys are different. Boys could care less about clothes. And thank goodness, I have three boys.

But then there was Brennan. Over the summer, Brennan started rejecting my carefully planned and laid out clothes for his week. He would place the rejected items back in his dresser drawers and join us at breakfast in a completely different outfit.

It was almost funny. He had a tough time matching at first and often picked many monochromatic outfits. But once he got the hang of it, well, Brennan developed a nice little style. Today, he set off for school in plaid madras shorts and a blue t-shirt, looking as cute and as polished as possible for the pre-K set.

But as Brennan does, then Griffin must also do. A few weeks ago, Griffin also started rejecting my outfit choices and began dressing himself in some very interesting outfits. Griffin lacks Brennan's stylistic sense and often, if not reigned in, looks like a child outfitted in Wal-mart cast offs. He refuses any shirt with a collar, prefers elastic waists, and any shirt displaying a cartoon character is a must. (I had previously banned all cartoon character shirts to bedtime only. I seem to be losing this battle.)

I used to love to dress my boys in their sweet, little man, preppy outfits. Collared shirts, chino pants or cords, little sweater vests. Sigh. But now the inmates are running the asylum and the only child that will allow me to dress him wears a uniform to school. Do they have a What Not to Wear tv show for the preschooler? I see a future for it on Noggin.

Exactly the Same : Sharkfest Two

I think I mentioned that Aidan doesn't like change all that much. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when he told me he wanted his 7th birthday party to be exactly the same party as his 6th.

I also should have have known that when he said "exactly the same," he really meant "exactly the same." I was setting up for the party, throwing juice boxes into a cooler out on our patio, when Aidan let out a gasp behind me.

"Mom! Last year you served us juice hugs, not juice boxes!" Aidan exclaimed.

Oh dear Lord, save me from my eldest child and his freakishly accurate memory.

We managed to squeak out a somewhat the same party. Water balloons, squirt guns, water slides to the max. It was a wet, muddy, crazy mass of boys running all over our backyard in complete bliss.

I even managed to carve out time to whip up some good ol' shark cupcakes.

Every single gift he opened from friends and family was either Legos, Star Wars or Egypt related. It's good to be 7.

Seven

Today my first baby boy is seven. It is hard to believe he was ever that baby in the pictures. Aidan is so much a boy now. Not just a boy, but his own person.

He is a boy who still loves Star Wars and legos and even more so, Star Wars legos. He spends hours building intricate creations from complicated instructions. He has moved on from the days of requiring his father's help to independently building space ships, helicopters and race cars.

Aidan's favorite food is pizza. He still loves his junk food, but has finally agreed to add new veggies into the mix. (His discovery of broccoli this year was a huge hit amongst all of us.) His favorite television show is Star Wars the Clone Wars and he has viewed the Star Wars movies more times than any of us would care to admit.

He loves to read. He spent most of the summer shoving chapter books into his backpack to read at the pool or a friends' house. He prefers books that have some mystery or history element to them, but will try anything and everything. He also loves books on his new favorite passion, Ancient Egypt. I think he has taken any and every Egypt book out of the library, delighting in the descriptions of the mummy tombs and archaeological digs. He has already made me promise to take him to King Tut's traveling exhibit in Toronto this winter.

He is still bossy. He likes to know the rules and let everyone around him also know the rules. He likes to be in charge and spends alot of his day ordering his younger brothers about the house.

He is, at seven, still a momma's boy and for that, I remain selfishly grateful. He loves to cuddle and hug, not only his parents, but his brothers too. He has a kind heart and loves to laugh. He is still my slow adjuster, and doesn't take well to change. He takes his time to get used to new things, new places and new people.

He is uniquely and wonderfully Aidan. Our sweet, now seven year old, boy.

2nd Grader!

Aidan started second grade yesterday. We all watched as he confidently got on the school bus, waving goodbye with excitement. I waited until the bus turned the corner before I turned away, buried my head into Chris's shoulder and burst into tears. It is hard for me to reconcile the young child who refused to get on the bus not quite two years ago with the confident boy I see before me today. He has grown up so much, so soon.

I heard later on that morning that his confidence faded for a moment or two after he arrived at school. He was out of sorts as he waited for his classroom assignment in the cafeteria and started to cry. Thankfully, the principal was on it, comforted him and found one of his cousins quickly to help him get over his fright. But when I heard he told the principal he just "missed his mom" my heart broke all over again and I had to shut my office door to give myself a few minutes for a good cry. (And the rep for the crazy crying family only continues to build and strengthen in our town of Whoville.)

Thankfully, the rest of the day passed without incident as he settled into familiar routines. My second grader. I couldn't be more proud.

Movin on Up

Today was Griffin's last day in the toddler room. He moves up to the preschool room next week.

My third sweet baby is not a baby. I am not sure he ever has been. He is fiercely independent. He has the attitude, speech and mannerisms of a four year old. He dresses himself (even picking out his own clothes! And oh, the doozy outfits he can put together. It is truly an art form.) He is a master swimmer at the pool, without an ounce of fear. (unlike his older brothers at his age.) He is simply growing up too fast. I expected the third to remain a baby for longer because my third was also my last. But he has surprised us from the start with how quickly he has grown up.

I know he is ready for preschool. He will do great. But there is a part of me that will miss the rituals and comfort of his toddler days at school. I will miss my baby who is too rapidly evolving into a boy.