No name tags for us!

My boys have decided that putting a name tag on their backs to go into MOPs is the worst idea conceived by man.

At first it was just Isaac. He'd claw at his back and cry and beg for me to take the tape off. I would do my best to put it in a place he could not reach. Eventually, I would figure out a way to put it on him without him noticing, and class would begin as promised.

But then Elijah decided to join his brother in the masking-tape-lamentation-dance. He, too, would try to reach his tape. He'd cry. He'd yell. And again, eventually, I would succeed in sneaking it onto his back without him realizing it, and class would begin as promised.

Mom 2. Boys 0.

But then, my little men, decided to team up against me.

They decided that they would watch each other's backs. And thus ended my ability to win this tape war. If I put a piece of tape on Isaac, Elijah would quickly take it off for him. And if I succeeded with Elijah? Isaac to the rescue.

I thus informed all teachers at last week's MOPs that name tags on their shirts was beyond my mom skills. I was out of ideas. Their names would have to be forgotten or memorized. And because I've been here on Base for nearly a year now, most everyone knows my boys -- although they still often can't remember which one is which.

I suppose the previous score of 2-0 means nothing if they now will win every time. They had out-conspired me. I had been out-witted by two toddlers.

And to be honest, deep down, a part of me was proud. Proud that as brothers they worked together to accomplish a task they both felt important (for who knows why.) I wanted so badly to be the mother of just one child. So when I see two of them wrestling and fighting and teaming up and laughing, my heart is glad. It's very happy.

And I find it completely acceptable that I lost.