Summer of the Boy-Mom
Like bees to honey are boys to water. Here are a few other truths I’ve learned on my summer vacation:
If it’s sticky, dirty, messy or wet, they’ll be touching it before you can yell “Eww, don’t!”
If they are eating crackers off the airport terminal carpet, you’ll be too far away to stop them.
If there is a way they can wander aimlessly in front of another hurried passenger in a crowded airport, they’ll find it.
If the captain turns on the “Fasten Seat Belts” sign, they will immediately need to use the restroom. Urgently.
If you are anxious (and lost) while on vacation, they will become anxious, too. If you are blithe and carefree, they’ll be that way, too.
If you leave just one item on the airplane, it will be the most precious stuffed animal in their possession and nothing can ever, ever take its place.
There is a precious, inexplicable continuity when you see your kids making new friends with the kids of your old friends. “I want to marry Summer!” he declared as we left Cape Elizabeth that day…
If you dress them in cute, matching white t-shirts, they will, without fail, choose bright red face paint.
If there are more than five cars at a stoplight, the Yankees will call it “traffic.”
And here’s a little anecdote for you that just happened tonight. I’m not laughing right now, but I am generously not going to deny you, my readers, the opportunity to laugh hysterically at my expense.
Right about 6pm tonight, I was looking at my offspring and wondering…why boys? Why? Why me?
They punched each other through dinner. They fought over folding laundry. They threw their folded clothes on each other’s bedroom floor and then went to war with rolls of toilet paper across the bathroom while supposedly brushing their teeth. One of them was on the toilet, pooping, of course, requiring him to stand up to get a better shot, and, of course, resulting in an entire roll falling into full toilet.
So they took it the sodden roll and left it on the floor for me to find.
After I recovered from my stroke, I sent one to the garbage cans and left one bleaching the floor. He finished, and grabbed my pretty aqua and brown striped towels to wipe up the wet bleach.
I’m so beyond any further reaction at this point.
“What has happened to you?!” I choke, incredulous. “Where is my sweet son?”
“He went on vacation. I’m his decoy.” He had the gall to smirk. “You know you love me, mom.”
The little one sidles up to me then, shirtless in plaid pj’s and hugs my leg: “I love you, Mommy. You’re so pretty.”
They smell defeat.
I left them with these eloquent words:
“Please go to the bathroom, then go to bed. And, I beg you…whatever comes out of your body, just make sure it goes IN the toilet this time, ok?”
There you have it. That is just one evening, nay, one hour in the life of a boy-mom.