Not My Boys

These are my boys. These are not.

These are my Boys. There are four of them.

I wanted to clarify that because last week I inadvertently misled The Internet into thinking that my sons were the stars of the most hilarious Christmas gift since my father and his uncle exchanged the exact same fruit basket for 10 years running. (Don't worry--after the second exchange the oranges and apples were pretty much just little chunks of petrification. But this was a highlight of each Christmas celebration, which, come to think of it, is either awesome or pathetic.)

Anyway, I saw the Bored Panda story on "Three Brothers Recreate Their Weirdest Childhood Photos as a Gift for Their Mom" and it made me laugh, so I shared it on my Facebook page. I tagged the four Boys who are related to me, suggested they recreate a similar recreation, and thought that would be the end of it.

That night Husband and I attended a soup supper benefit. My friend who was taking tickets lit up before we even got to the head of the line. "MomQueenBee!" she called "That calendar of your boys was the cutest thing ever!"

Huh? I reassured her that my Boys are quite certainly the cutest things ever but a gift of this magnitude would require a lot more time together than their living-in-four-different-states status permits.

And then another friend sent a message.

"You're famous!" she said, linking back to the Bored Panda story.

So let me just say for the record: My Boys are not the calendar boys. I know this because (a) my Boys number four, not three; (b) I do not have a photo of all four of them in the bathtub together; and (c) if I did have such a photo and published it for the amusement of The Internet, I would have zero Boys who claimed me as their mother.

Also, with two of my Boys topping 6'3" and the other two 6' even, they would not fit in the bathtub together. Sorry, Internet.

Could I interest you in a basket of petrified fruit instead?