Friday, November 16, 2012

Living With Boys

I am the mother of boys. It's a perfect greeting card slogan. Inside would read something like, "You deserve a merit badge.." or something more catch that basically means the same things. When you're the mother of boys you come to simply know & expect things will happen. You know that if your little boy finds a stick on the beach it's an instant toy. It can be a gun, a crutch, a metal detector, a sword, a light saber or any one of a hundred things. Mother's of boys do not expect that if a stick is laying on the ground within a 100 mile radius that their son will leave it alone, because he won't.

There are other things we take for granted. Like the fact that after every bath & shower, which is more like a typhoon or hurricane, they will inevitably leave their clothes strewn, not just all over the bathroom, but also the hallway, their bedroom, & sometimes, just to freak you out, light figures 8' in the air.

Bodily habits, sounds, & functions not only elicit giggles from, but often cheers & cries for more. A bad hair day generally refers to the moment they need a haircut, not wildly out of control objects upon their head. Mud, dirt, heat, & bugs rarely stop them from reenacting a hundred different wars in the back yard, each one before lunch time. Gross, to them, is holding hands, kissing, & most forms of effection.

You learn to speak languages you never new existed, & converse fluently much to the horrified expressions of most people you know. You become use to saying things like, "Put the dolphin down & get the school work done!" Couches become mountains to scale, patterns on the grocery store floor becomes lava one must avoid, & every vegetable in the veggie shed becomes some living creature that squeals & screams when it's made aware it will be eaten for supper.

One expects to find oddities in pant pockets, beds, & in book bags. Wrestling appears to be a sign of affection, as does Nerf fights, sword fights, & every form of racing known to man. I've even become accustomed to the countless supply of "stuff" that, despite my misgivings, they always put to weird & wonderful uses.

I did now, however, expect to wake up & find my 9 year old laying in my bed with a bike helmet on. Rough night? Apparently not. Bad dreams? Nope. Thunder? I didn't hear any. Why the helmet? I saw it laying on the floor. So, you just thought you'd randomly pick up Daddy's helmet & sleep in it? Yeah. Even though you know he bikes home, up two huge hills, & sweats like crazy?! Yeah.

Just wait until I tell his kids about this one!

1 comment:

kim said...

So true. Love this. Thanks for making me laugh this morning.