Mother of boys. It conjures up all sorts of images, mostly ones that make you go, "Ahh, how beautiful." Strength. Sweet mischief. Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie.
Yeah, right.
What really comes with this territory? (As you read this,
dip a finger in red wine for each item)
The Ten Plagues of Raising Boys
Stink.
Mess.
Piles of stuff.
Built things that multiply.
Oversized black tee shirts.
Too much hair.
Dirty towels.
Horrible toilet issues.
Shoes everywhere.
Ugly cartoons on TV.
And that's just me!
Ha ha. I'm laughing through my dust-coated tears.
No, really, how do I get some control over my house? There are piles and piles of Ben's pads, Ben's Lego creations, Max's sculptures, Max's schoolwork, Max's books, Ned's music, Nat's books, Nat's discarded clothes, Ned's half-started projects, Ben's lemonade stands-turned-spaceships...
Where does the girl get to be? My little windowseat? My 1930's art nouveau dresser, festooned with earrings, bangles, lace, discarded bras, silver mirrors, perfume bottles? My pretty cheval glass, decorated with necklaces and pink belly dancewear? Is that all I get, in this huge messy house? Everything else is male-volent.
At least my kitchen is clean -- sort of.
Boy, Vey
Camille at 2:28 PM, July 22, 2006
