There’s an unspoken rule in our home to keep at least one light on at all times. The house is a scary place in the dark. You never know what you will step on or who you will step on. You don’t ever want to run to the bathroom and step on one of those little matchbox cars. Trust me, your feet will never forgive you. There are balls, blocks, trucks, and even large riding toys. The toy companies make announcements every day to their staff and it goes as follows: “Men, this is a factory that manufactures toys for boys. They must, and I repeat, MUST all be sharp and painful to step on and should preferably come with wheels. That should take the parents for a ride. Oh, and we mustn’t forget. Create them all with no way to switch off their sounds. They should be loud and obnoxious and go on endlessly with songs, tunes, and all sorts of announcements.” I know, how sweet. But, at least they have our boys in mind.
I refuse to have those boys who have no concept what girls really are. I can’t stand that look that they give you like you are a foreign being. I have seen them lift up skirts with wonder. I try to introduce them to everything in my world, except for the anatomy part that I skip for now. Some day, just not now. My son showed me a panty liner and asked me what it was. I told him it was a liner. He just put it down and said, “Oh. Okay,” and continued on to his cars. He asked me what I was wearing under my shirt- now how can I explain that one. Well it was easy, and I told him it was a bra. And of course the questions must go on. Where is the fun if not? “So mommy, What IS a bra?” “It’s simple” I told him, “It is a shortened version of your undershirt. We don’t need as much coverage as you boys need.”
I try to use it to my advantage that we are so different. I want them to understand me to the best of their abilities. I can’t be alone. So I tell them how awesome (and hot, of course) us women are. I tell them how much work it takes to be a mom. Instead of cleaning the house when they are asleep so that they wake up to order, I tell them and show them that I have to do it. There are no little elves running around at night making sure it’s spotless in the morning. I have to put out their clothing- it doesn’t just walk there on its own.
I had my son watch me scrub the faucets in the kitchen. Rare occasion, but he got to observe. He just stood there, mouth agape and he said, “Wow, mommy, now the faucet is brand new.” Yes, you see how amazing we are. Our powers are beyond words. Some day their wives will thank me. They are now professionals in the flattery department.
I love when they watch me come out of my room all dressed and they are standing in a single file row outside of my door. Streams of compliments just start pouring from their mouths. They tell me how beautiful I look, how what I am wearing looks so good, how I am so nice. It’s all part of the training process. They must always praise.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I would love to have little girls someday. I can’t say I am waiting for little handbags and accessories to be running free in my house but a little less blue would be nice. Most of all I would love if I could have someone to talk to. I try with the boys but it just doesn’t seem to work. I start having a conversation and suddenly the kid is gone. “Is that a garbage truck?” Dude, I was just pouring out my heart to you and there is a more important truck? These men just don’t know how to focus.
I love my boys. They are everything to me. It is the only reality I know of. I know that I shouldn’t think too much into the things that they do because they didn’t. I understand that the second I hear a truck backing up, I have to run. Even if it is 3:00 in the morning and I am tucked into my bed, I must unlock the door for the three stooges who are standing there and waiting with eyes mostly shut. I am aware of the fact that in a few years time I will be installing urinals for my sanity. I accept that anything that gets left around may or will be turned into a truck or the garbage of the truck. I know to check the garbage pail every night to make sure all the things that are in there actually belong. I am used to the fighting and the way they beat each other up and I am happy when they get out alive and unscathed. Most of all, I notice how they don’t seem to hold a grudge no matter what happens, and they move onto the next thing.
It’s a world of new information that they taught me and continue to teach me each and every day. I wouldn’t have it any other way. They are simple and perhaps thoughtless at times but it’s what makes them who they are. I will try my hardest to make better men than there are out there. But either way, you gotta love them. They will never be girls and thank G-d for that.