A friend recently shared this picture on my Facebook wall. The two little boys in the background could easily be my boys. She captioned it with, “I saw this and instantly thought of you and your boys!”
She was right. My boys get dirty and they love with everything they have. They find dirt, and bugs, and trucks everywhere they go. We could be in church and somehow, some way, they find a puddle to jump in. I try to keep them from jumping in the holy water and if I’m lucky only one truck gets blessed. I spend most of my day asking why. Why would you do that? Why is the dog hiding? Why did you eat that? Why? Just WHY???
I know why though. I know that they are curious about the world around them. I know that I’m not going to have too many years of puddle jumping, dirt tracks and bug catching. I know I’m supposed to cherish these days because when I drop them off at their dorm rooms, I’m going to cry wishing for these days back. It’s just really hard to see all of that right now. The meme says to the brink of insanity, I passed the brink and went right over the edge into the dark hole of boydom.
Boydom is a rough place. It’s a place where pants are optional. It’s dirty and loud. There is wrestling, sword fighting and stair surfing. The smells are the first clue you have entered boydom. The sweet smells of farts, pee and sweat float through the air. Don’t worry, you will get used to at least one of those smells. For me it’s the flatulence. I still have a hard time with pee and sweat, but my boys are only four. I have years to go. Once your nose adjusts, your eyes focus in. Trucks in the bathroom, truck parts in the kitchen sink. Pants draped on the stairs. Baseballs, footballs, and soccer balls thrown about as booby traps. The boys enter, dirt on their faces, in their ears, at least one visible scar on their faces. You hold your daughter tight. Praying you will make it out in one piece. You may not. This serves as your warning. The boys whip past with swords in their dirty little hands. You wonder what dimension you have entered; its boydom.
Boydom is when the muddy footprints appear on the a freshly mopped kitchen floor and when I have to explain to the pediatrician that the game is called “jumping monkey kitties” and that’s why we need stitches again. Or my personal favorite – when the infamous “toot cannon” goes off in my face, I have to remember the grand gestures of love and thoughtfulness. But it is hard when you are deep in the thick of boydom.
There are days that I want to run away. The days when I look around and all I see is dirt and mud and crumbs. Those are the days that I wish for a little girl. I wish I had a partner to get a pedicure with and play Barbies quietly on the floor. To go shopping and pick out frilly tutus. But I’m brought back to reality with a request for a band-aid and to fix another broken monster truck. Some days there is a need for three baths and five outfit changes. Some days there is a need for mommy to have a glass at wine at dinner, sometimes the entire bottle.
It seems easy to lose yourself into the deep, dark hole of boydom. And trust me, it happens all the time. These women are easy to spot. Usually dressed in sweats and no makeup, they seem to congregate at racetracks and Monster Jam events. They are the ones coaching little league and wearing tee shirts that say “proud wrestling mother.” They don’t bother carrying hand sanitizer or wipes. They don’t even bat an eyelash at the little tumbles and falls. You may hear them say, “Is it falling off”? “Well how much blood?” on the playground. They are proud to be neck-deep in boydom, because honestly, what choice do they have? Eventually all mothers of boys end up there. Don’t let it take you kicking and screaming. Own it. Love it. Live it.
Live it because there is nothing better in this world than your little boy whispering ‘I love you.’ There is nothing sweeter than him picking you the perfect dandelion out of a field. He looks in your eyes and sees right down into your soul and all is forgotten. The muddy footprints, the three baths, even the caterpillar in your bed, is forgiven because he is your little boy and you will always be his first love and he will always be your angel in a dirty robe.
Laura is a mother of 4-year-old twin boys. She spends most of her days trying to identify various bugs her boys find. She recently quit her 9-5 to pursue a career in writing. You can follow her on Twitter, Facebook, and via her Blog. She is also a contributor on twiniversity.com
