On Saturday, February 18th, we had a special first in our house. Grady gave his first bloody nose. Just last week I was talking to a family who has all boys. They were wildly rough housing in the church hallway, oblivious to anything else. I don't think a crowbar could've separated them. Well, who knows, maybe a crowbar. I told the father that when I saw his boys, sometimes I thought I was looking into my future with Porter and Grady. He shared with me pearls of wisdom and counsel on raising boys. Here it is: "Don't bleed on the carpet! You can bleed anywhere else, just not on the carpet!" Mere days later, I could see what good advice that was. All joking aside, I was ticked! I told Grady to sit on his bed. He stuck out his bottom lip in shame and then put the blanket over his face. It sounds pitiful but it didn't take him long to recover from the remorse of his crime. Porter took it like a man and made it to the bathroom, smothered his nose in toilet paper and waited it out. Poor fellow. I told Grady how mean it was to hit and how he hurt his brother, yatta, yatta. Fast forward two hours later and I hear Grady yelling, 'Mom, Porter try to hurt me!' Porter runs up the stairs in his defense and says, 'I was just punching him in the head but not very hard.' Right.