Raising boys has been a steep learning curve for this mum.
Since my sons tornadoed into my life, I have become conditioned to remain un-fazed about most things. I’ve literally had any trace of princess ripped right out of me and my tiara is now being used as a slingshot.
My role as a mother to boys has opened me up to a whole new set of skills. I can catch a garden lizard, pick up crabs (at the beach) without losing a finger, I can play cricket, football and I ride a mean skateboard. I’ve even had to carefully remove a pet budgie from a money-box amid assurances from a 3 year old that “he likes it in there”.
There are also some other minor differences to my day to day life that are all part of this sticky, sweaty, fast moving package of living with little boys.Take for example the fake spiders, rubber snakes and crocodiles are as much a part of the furniture in our house as, well, the furniture.
Then there are the real insects that the boys ‘catch and release’ except without the release, and I find myself emptying dead bugs into the garden as I whisper them a quiet apology.
I should also pay my respects to the snails that were sacrificed when the boys just had to see what was under their shell.
There’s our patient, ever smiling Labrador who is no stranger to wearing a cape and playing the role of someone’s sidekick in a pretend game.
There’s a bath tub that is filled with toys and enough noise for you to believe there are 15 kids in there. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly the water changes to a brown broth when these 2 little naked bodies are submerged – even on a clean day.
There are fights, wrestles and punch ups, but there is nothing in our home that cannot be solved or decided by paper, scissors, rock – and we move right along. My boys don’t have a long enough attention span to hold grudges.
Giving my sons the ‘Typewriter’ is a perfectly acceptable and dare I say normal form of punishment (complete with a manual ‘return’).
I have found a quiet acceptance that I will never again walk into my toilet without having to dodge a wee puddle.
There is the never ending supply of food that I need to provide to feed their growing bodies. My financial strategy to afford their food into their teenage years is to perhaps sell one of my internal organs. Granted my liver has declined in value having taking somewhat of a beating with the wine I drink to cope with being outnumbered by boys. It’s a vicious cycle.