For a good stretch there, I had three nephews. I noticed that they had been named such that:

A.  First-born (year X)
(Skipped year B-name…)
C.  Second (year X + 2)
D.  Third (year X + 2 + 1)

They were affectionately known as, “my boys,” naturally. (Example common usage: “I miss my boys!”)

Then, we enter the zone where keeping track of time became fuzzier, and relative to siblings, rather than a specific date and computation.

(There were more important things about them to file in my memory bank, certainly.)

Then L. was born approximately enough years after D. that it could confirm my earlier weak notion. I have attempted to work it out in my head, but my brain freezes before arriving at a definitive solution. Perhaps because I realize I would have to stop sharing the timing and naming anecdote. I decided to type up this post instead of arriving at a definitive solution. (Or figuring out how to set year end-points so that the suspected system is confirmed.)

In any case, the addition of a fourth band member (who seems to have the rhythm of a drummer and dancer), certainly warranted an update of my collective term for my nephews: my boyz.

This post was prompted by an unfortunate event last night. It’s one of those laundry incidents that are too horrible to describe because they lead to reliving a painful moment of regret.

Please shield the eyes of the young or weak-stomached.

What I am about to reveal is

shocking

gruesome

appauling

and

may offend

millions.

Please learn from my mistake

so that it is not repeated!

SpongeBob footies minus a spongePom

Yes, you are correct:  I should’ve known to wash these delicates by hand!  I hope my boyz will forgive me.

Ahem, anyone happen to have a needle and some thread?  I carry first aid items with me, in the event anyone needs them, and I have tons of spare buttons around here, but no sewing supplies.  I wonder if duct tape would help here.

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