You Can’t Make This Stuff Up!

He didn’t need to bend over. The cheeks were showing as he passed into the dining room. “Little Guy, where are your underwear?”  Shy smile. “Go get some on.”

Five minutes later: “Little Guy, go get your underwear on.”

Five minutes later, he comes down with socks in his hand. “I asked you to get underwear on.”

Walking into daycare, the pants yield enough view as he climbs the stairs. “Little Guy!!! I told you 10 times to get underwear on!  Ahhhh!  Hope there’s some in your cubby.”

Hmm….just a shirt….bummer.

“Oh, I put them in the car, Mom.” Of course, why not just carry them to the car?

Back upstairs and get them from the car. Enter the bathroom to have him change: “Little Guy! Where are your socks?!?!”

Pretty sure I need to institute some kind of 5-point inspection before we leave the house in the morning!  Drill Sargent style. Teeth. Underwear. Socks. Shoes on the right feet. Backpacks. Sure the boys are going to love it.

Little Guy really is my easy-going (other than the whining), never have to entertain him, and usually can’t find him kind of guy. But this week has been a doozy for him.

Toilet in the boys bathroom is not even two weeks old and it overflowed the other day. Man, I said to myself – what in the world is wrong with this thing! Boys, what is wrong with the toilet?

“Um, I think there’s a car in there,” Little Guy responds helpfully.

“You think?!?”

I don’t even want to call the maintenance men tomorrow morning. Thought I’d give them the weekend off and just have the boys run downstairs for toileting (because you know full well that my master bathroom toilet seat shall not be “adorned” by them!). But really, what am I going to say? Hi, guys, mind taking up that new toilet you just put in and dig out the Matchbox car?

And to top it off, this morning I bolted out of bed when my savvy nose indicated some kind of burning occurring. Rushing into the kitchen, I find Little Guy with red oven mitts on his bakedhands and the microwave door open – charred bits of a tortilla shell scattered on the tray. “There sure was lots of smoke coming out the top of that thing,” Little Guy says all wide-eyed, knowing pretty well that the Mama creature does not look at all pleased with his attempt to fend for himself for breakfast. What’s wrong with the cream cheese on bagel you usually get for yourself? Or the yogurt you leave half-eaten at the dining room table? What in the world made you want to “cook” this morning for your first time ever?!? So much for trying to laze in bed for a minute on a Sunday morning!

A friend texted the other night, “Is your puppy as bad as she is cute? Because I feel like that adorable face would get her out of a lot of trouble. Kind of like The Little Guy.”

“Nailed it,” I replied.

My good little boy is vying with the elder siblings for “who can cost the most” award and it’s a good thing he has a sweet elfish smile and an adorable face!


You can’t make this stuff up!


What are little boys made of?

Yesterday I pondered “Why don’t we let little boys be little boys anymore?”

My little boy is “misbehaving” in first grade. He is “playing in the bathroom” (no way?!? Really? He never does that at home.) He is “talking to his friends” (right – definitely a problem). He is “being silly” (Am aghast! A true offence indeed).

I mock. I mock because I struggle. I know, just as well as the teacher knows, that all of his behaviors are absolutely perfectly NORMAL six-year-old boy behaviors (and girls too!). The problem is that he is displaying these natural inclinations at all the wrong moments. Most likely when he’s supposed to silently wash his dirty little hands and line back up to return to the classroom. He’s chatting with classmates instead of sitting quietly on the rug for the Mystery Reader. He’s sputtering or spinning or bumping around when he should have both feet on the floor and tracing lowercase “h’s” for the 100th time in his short little life.

I was never a little boy. I do not understand all that goes on in my little boys’ brains. Their world is total insanity to me. They leap over couches and curl under dining room chairs. They throw each other to the ground and smack each other’s heads. They will never ever lift the seat before peeing. Rocks fall out of their pockets. Snakes slither across their hands. Boogers and blood go straight into their mouths…along with Lego pieces, plastic bottle caps, and marbles (and flower petals and miscellaneous bush berries and countless other potentially poisonous or choking hazards!).  There seems to be no rhyme or reason to their chaos or their constant energy. It is like a constant death wish thwarted by a vigilant (exhausted) parent.

But I do understand that we (as in all of us) are doing this wrong. We have exorbitant numbers of young boys with ADHD and medication to “quiet” them down.  We have young boys expelled from day care centers. Behavioral charts. “Reward systems.” Detentions, suspensions, expulsions.

Gone are the days, it seems, when they played pick-up baseball in an empty field. Gone are the adventures around the neighborhood which ended when street lights came on or the neighbor caught them red-handed. Gone are the times of recess, dodge ball and tag.

little boys

From Etsy: Expressive Sprouts

I don’t want to be stuck in nostalgia. I don’t want my boys to get hurt (too much). But I do want them to be the “boy boys” they were created to be. I want them to be silly, impish, mischievous, creative, brave, daring, strong, boisterous, adventurous, wild, rambunctious rascals.

For I know that there are precious few years for them to be boys and so little time before they are whittled into “grown-ups” who act “mature.” Oh, what to do?

Dirty fingerprints on once white walls
Purple stains on carpeted floors
Beaten and ratty leather couches
Broken knobs on unhinged doors.


Tennis balls behind the piano
Abandoned socks under the beds
Ripped jeans and stained pajamas
Random “treasures” under their heads.


Gouges on the dining room table
Rickety wiggly dining room chairs
Board game pieces strewn haphazard
Window curtains marred by tears.


Dirty dishes, scattered toys
This is home to three little boys.


(Complimentary ear plugs and hand sanitizer available at the door. Please sign your acknowledgement of the dangers inherent upon entering such a place. Alcoholic beverages available upon request, signaled by a wink and a nod. Or a scream, yelp or whimper. Whatever works best for you. Welcome to our home.)