Boys are Dumb

Elmo

Sometimes I feel really bad for my daughter being in a house of mostly boys. If it wasn’t for me, she’s be truly the only girl because even the cats are boys.

Don’t get me wrong, she totally holds her own against her brothers. She is after-all a tom boy and when that doesn’t suit her, she is bossy as hell which she comes by naturally because she is my daughter.

It’s just that no matter how much she tries to be like the boys, she can’t be a boy. Those natural born, genetically given, imprinted girl tendencies will always come out . She can’t help it which means no matter how hard she tries she, like me, will never fully understand boys.

For example, whacking a tree with a stick. The boys do this. They get great joy in performing this task and will go at it for hours on end but when asked to explain why? Why do they do this? They will just shrug their shoulders and pick up a rock to throw at other rocks.

It makes no sense to me. I have just come to the conclusion that there it must have something to do with the penis. There must be something in that organ that makes these acts make sense to them. And since I will never have a penis, I will never understand it.

Claire is slowly grasping this concept.

It’s difficult for her. All she knows is brothers and their weirdness and since she wants to be included with her brothers and their play, it’s a daily struggle. But sometimes, when she’s feeling girly and those female tendencies are at their highest and she can’t take it anymore.

“… yeah and then Elmo’s head will explode,” Jake said in between bites of waffle.

“Next his body. It’ll explode all over the street,” Quinn chimed in making Jake and Hayden snort with laughter.

“And his purple blood will be all over the place making the buildings explode,” Jake said, gesturing with his hands.

“The explosion will be HUGE… EPIC!” Hayden added.

“Elmo’s exploding head,” Jake said, now beside himself with laughter.

“STOP IT! STOP IT!” Claire yelled at the top of her lungs across the breakfast table which made the boys laugh harder and broke me of my Facebook reading trance.

“Claire, don’t yell,” I scolded.

“But mom,” she whined. “Make them stop. Tell them to stop talking about explosions.”

When she said that word the boys snickered and giggled again like they were all 13 and in a room where there was naked boobies.

I sighed at her request. My sluggish not fully caffeinated brain trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Boys, stop it,” I said halfheartedly, just trying to keep the peace.

Claire gave me her, ‘mom that’s totally not gonna work’ look because she thinks at times she is a better mother than me and pushed back her chair to take her dirty dishes to the sink. The boys once again started discussing Elmo’s head exploding and purple blood going every where.

“Why do they have to talk about exploding so much?” she said looking at me, waiting for an answer that would enlighten her.

“I don’t know,” I said after a sip of coffee.

She wasn’t satisfied and she stared at me, her eyes begging for knowledge and understanding.

Then I felt like I could keep the secret no longer. I had to give it to her, I had to give her the only answer that has been keeping girl’s (and women) sane since the beginning of time.

“Boys are dumb.”

 

Mama’s Losin’ It

Bath Time

Bathing children in our house has always been a bit challenging, well maybe not really challenging but more on the interesting side.

When the triplets were little, we just put them all in the same tub together. The bathroom got soaked but that meant the floor was cleaned and mopped every other day and the kids had a great time. It was assembly line style, in out and done.

In the summer, bathing is easy. If the kids have been swimming, I called that a bath and if they haven’t… it’s running through the sprinkler in only your undies and sometimes we’d even get the soap out.

Man, I miss summer.

But in these colder months, we have to bathe inside. That’s not the problem since we do have indoor plumbing and all, the problem is that my children are of different genders. The majority being boys.

Boys like to be naked. They like to show off their naked and bath time is the perfect time for this to happen.

Also boys and modesty don’t go hand in hand. What goes hand in hand with a boy and bath time is touching their junk. If I had a nickle for every time I had to tell some boy in this house to stop ‘tickling their pickle’, I would be a very rich woman.

Since the boys were babies they have always had this want to play with their ‘man member’. Take that diaper off and the hand goes straight for it. It’s like a new toy.

But as the kids have gotten older they are becoming more aware of not only their own bodies and those bodies around them. That means it’s time to teach them about privacy and I get to say a whole new thing, “We don’t touch our brother’s penis!” at bath time.

This also means its time for girls and boys to have separate bathes.

Also, it should be noted that the triplets really didn’t fit in the tub all together anymore.  They were squished in there tighter than sardines in a can.

So Claire has a bath by herself, Hayden takes a shower and Jake and Quinn take a bath together.

Someday, I hope all the kids will shower because it’s just easier but right now if you put a triplet in the shower they scream bloody murder and claim the water hurts them  like nails being spit at them. Oh the drama!

But with this separation of girl and boy siblings, ultimately giving the boys more room in the tub, something has happened that I did not expect.

The touching of the ‘man meat’ had increased to the point where I wonder if it might fall off. I mean, I get the whole self exploration. I get that it feels good and that’s why they do it. It’s only natural and a part of growing up. It’s just that I don’t want to see if every time I walk into the bathroom.

I am seriously thinking of teaching them the old ‘sock on the doorknob’ trick that college kids use. At least then, I would know to come back later.

Other wise I walk into the bathroom to help them wash their hair and one of the boys tell me, “Mom, I’m just trying to make my penis fart.”

Then I have to say, “Um, I’m not sure it’s supposed to do that.”

To which the boy will answer, “Yes, it can, see watch.”

And then I get very confused… very, very confused and leave the room feeling uncomfortable.

Yeah, I can’t wait until we can just go back to using  the sprinkler for bath time.

Lessons About Breast Feeding

We decided to have some friends over to celebrate the Chinese New Year. Our friends bring their kids, come hang out at our house, we eat Chinese food and the adult beverages flow.

It was a good time and of course my crazy kids provide the entertainment by saying things like, “MOMMY! He stepped on my weennis!!!”

On this particular night, my son also got and education… an education in breast feeding that is.

“So, I just told one of your kids what breast feeding was?” my sister-in-law said as she walked from our living room to the kitchen, balancing her 11 month old daughter on her hip, “I hope you don’t mind.”

I could have flown off the handle and freaked out at her sayind, “WHAT?! How dare you expose my son to something so so so … adult?! He is an innoncent child.” But since I have no issues with breast feeding and I’m pretty sure this son has seen his father and I going at it doggy-style, I just shrugged.

This is also not the first time, the fact that my brother-in-law and sister-in-law having a baby has brought up uncomfortable parenting moments. To be honest, I was just kind of glad I didn’t have to field this one.

“Um, ok.” I replied.

“I just wanted you to know,” she said, “So now you don’t have to educate him.”

I laughed, “Thanks… but what happened, actually?”

“Well, I sat down to feed her, put my cover over my neck and Quinn came over and asked what I was doing,” she explained and then went on, “I told him that I was going to feed her.”

“Oh? And what did Quinn do?” I asked.

“He got all quiet and then looked at me with this puzzled, kind of disgusted look,” she answered, “Then he said, ‘you’re gonna feed her?! How like a mommy bird feeds baby birds?'”

“Ok, what?!” I said, confused, “He thought you were going to chew up food and then spit it into your baby’s mouth? Nice.”

“Yeah,” my sister-in-law continued, “And I felt that I couldn’t leave him thinking that so I said to him, ‘You know how mommy’s have boobs? Well, that is how mommy’s feed their babies from their boobs.'”

“Then what happened,” I asked

“Well, I slid the baby under my cover and started feed her all while Quinn tried to sneek a peak,” she said.

“I am sure he was just curious as to what it looked like, you know a baby getting food from a boob. He probably thinks bananas and peas come out,” I said, “Also, he is from the same stock as his father… a total boob man.”

“Right,” she said, “I know, I married his brother.”

“And thanks for covering this subject for me,” I said, “I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain breast feeding.”

“No problem but here’s hoping he doesn’t ask you to breast feed him,” she said to me.

“Exactly, that magazine cover has already been done.” I said with a laugh.

Call Your Children

How do you call your children?

No, I am not talking about on the phone.

I am talking about when you want them all to come to you like if you have to leave the house or they are all running away from you in the store.

When Jeff and I were coming up with names for the kids, we praticed yelling each one we liked to see what was the easiest. If we could yell it without stumbling, then a child was given that name.

(Don’t worry that is not the only reason we picked the names we did but it was part of the process.)

Even though, we succeed in this mission but we didn’t take into account that their names should work together if we needed to call them all at once

I have 4 children to call and when I want them all at once, their names get all jumbled together.

“HAYDENQUINNJACOBCLAIRE” just doesn’t roll off the tongue as I try to say it loudly and quickly. This just causes confusion on their part because it usuallycome out “JAQUINCLAROBHAYKE”. And no one can understand me which means no one listens, I get mad and we just go round and round in circles.

There has got to be a better way.

At daycare, all the teachers use ‘friends’ when they want the whole group to pay attention to them.

I tried this at home but it just felt weird calling my children “friends”.

Then while watching a rerun of the show Dr 90210 that used to be on E!, I heard Dr Rey say, “Come here boys and girls,” when he called his children to him.

Ureeka!

I liked that.

So I began saying, “Come here boys and girl!” or if they were running away from me at the store, “Boys and Girl! Stop it.”

But when you are mad and you need to call the children quickly, “Boys and Girl” just doesn’t work.

I needed something short, something fast, something that included all genders.

Enter… “GUYS!”

‘Guys’ is perfect. It’s short, fast and just rolls off the tongue.

I had found my word.

Actually I go back and forth between calling all my children by saying, “Boys and Girl” or “Guys”.

I am not the only one in this house that has seen the beauty of yelling ‘guys’ to get everyone’s attention. No, it is not Jeff. He actually has a very limber tongue and can call them all by name quickly which of course, drives me crazy.

It is Claire that has followed in my footsteps.

To be honest, I am not really surprised by this. She, being the only girl, follows her natural instincts to mother and tries to help me rein in the boys or just tries to tell them what to do.

She learned rather quickly that there are just too many brothers and too many names to say so  just yells ‘guys’.

If the kids are all in the basement playing, give it a few minutes and you will hear Claire start, “Guys, come on” or “Guys, listen here” or “No, guys!” or my personal favorite, “guys. Guys. GUYS! GUYS! GUYS!”

The boys are of course are totally immune to her ‘guy-ing’ which only leads to her yelling it more.

Which got me thinking, maybe George Foreman who named all his boys ‘George’ was onto something. Having just one name to call all your children…. that’s totally awesome.

So, how do you call your children?

A Morning Surprise

Just before bed the phone rang calling the husband into work, a child cried out with hurting ears and I knew there would be no rest for the weary.

Nights of little sleep make me sad.

So when the alarm rang in the morning, I wanted to throw it out the window and continue to sleep snuggled warm in my bed with Jeff who had only joined me only a couple hours before.

But school waits for no man so after hitting snooze for the third time, I finally threw back the covers, shoved Jeff awake mumbling “Shower… you… now” and walked into the kitchen .

Thank God for my Keurig coffee maker, add a cup, push a button and soon sweet wonderful coffee is in my cup.

As the coffee brewed, I saw two of my sons sitting on the couch, one seemingly watching TV and the other playing the DS.

“Morning, boys,” I said.

“Hi, mom,” they both answered.

I glanced at the clock and decided that the other two sleeping children could wait because after a night of little sleep dealing with two children at a time is easier than deal with all four at once.

“It’s a school day,” said warning the two boys that they would need to be getting ready soon.

They nodded.

Before I gathered clothes from upstairs, I decided morning snuggles with my boys was in order. What could be better than starting the day off with some hugs and love from mommy?

I stumbled into the living room, leaned down to hug one son when I saw it.

I was not prepared for this sight. It caught be completely off guard so I screamed,

“GOOD LORD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

My scream startled the boy and soon pants were being pulled back on and body parts were once again hidden.

For what I had stumbled upon was my son, shinning the helmet, rubbing one out, flogging the dolphin, in words touching himself.

As I watched my son instantly feel shame and hide from me, I felt bad.

This was totally not the way to handle this situation. I don’t want my children to feel bad or ashamed about touching themselves. Exploring your body is only normal. It’s a part of grown up. I just don’t want it done in the living room, while watching TV, for everyone to see.

“I am sorry,” I said to my son, “Come on, you don’t have to hide. It’s alright.”

My son rose his head up from the corner of the couch and looked at me.

“It’s alright to touch yourself, but that is just something that needs to be done in private. It’s something that you should do in your bedroom by yourself…. ok?!” I explained.

The little one nodded his head.

“Yeah,” my other son began, “I used to do that all the time but now I stopped because doing it so much kinda made my penis hurt but maybe I will start it again.”

I just stared at my son.

“Don’t worry mom,” he added, “I will do it my bedroom, privately because this is a private matter.”

I gave him a half smile, nodded and decided it was time to involve an expert on this subject… their father.

Got Illustrations?

There are a lot of random thoughts that fly through my head every single day.

And I need to tell these thoughts to people so that there can be more room for the important stuff like remembering what Johnny Depp looks like and what time the kids need to be picked up from daycare for that we don’t have to pay the $5 per minute late fee… again.

This is why I am so glad that I have Twitter and Facebook.

These places are perfect for unloading my random and freeing space in my brain.

Well sometimes when I share the random thoughts from my brain on twitter or facebook, I feel like you are only getting half the information. You are just not seeing the whole picture like I am.

So let me tell you the story, with illustrations, of how I see my random thoughts.

***

I live in a house that houses mostly boys.

Boys are weird…

and gross…

and dirty.

Every single time I walk into the bathroom after a little boy as used it, I am reminded of this fact.

Which caused me to tweet this question.

How hard can it be to keep pee in the toilet when you have an appendage to hold from where the pee comes out?

***

My phone beeped with a text from my friend, “You me, drinks… let’s go.”

I responded with a “Hell, yes”  and the girls night was set.

We all gathered at a local dive bar with a ton of different beers and fabulous food. I told myself that I was not going to order anything but I do have a weakness for foods that I have not tried before.

I came across an appetizer, ‘Fried Garbanzo Beans with Blue Cheese Crumbles’ and I knew they had to be mine. I told the waiter to rustle me up some along with a beer and I was one happy girl.

Fried garbanzo beans are fabulous as was the girls night. We laughed so much my sides hurt by the end of the night.

I went to bed with a smile on my face but when I awoke the next morning, I needed to make this tweet.

“Last night, I ate something wonderful, fried garbanzo beans, that has caused me to be gas powered this morning.”

***

Even with splurging by drinking beer and eating fried foods, I am proud to say that my jeans that I used to wear while wearing 3  pairs of Spanx, now fit with only one pair of Spanx. I don’t know about you but I call that a huge accomplishment.

I just love wearing these jeans. They make me feel hot and sexy and not the least bit frumpy.

So imagine my surprise when I put them on one morning, bent over to pick up a random kid shoe that are constantly left all over my house and heard and huge RRRIIIPPPPPP!

“AHHHH!” I screamed.

“What?!” Jeff said walking over from across the room.

“My jeans just ripped. That makes me so sad,” I said, “And it’s not like I was squeezing into them anymore. They fit.”

Jeff’s response to my jeans ripping made me tweet this.

Yesterday, the crotch ripped out of my favorite pair of jeans. Of course my husband was most pleased, “Easy access, baby!”

***

So there, now you know.

I feel better. Hope you do too.

This post is part of Writer’s Workshop

My Son, the Ladies Man

I knew when I gave birth to three beautiful and handsome sons that some day there would be girls.

I knew that some day girls would started to come around and that it would take more than a strong lock on my front door to keep the girls at bay.

I knew that some day I would need a club, a Fred Flintsone sized club.

I knew this day was coming but I just thought that I had more time.

Seriously.

I should not have to be about a club when my oldest son is only seven years old.

But it has become very obvious that this is totally what I need to do.

I had to get Hayden from school in the middle of the day to take him to a doctors appointment.

I walked into school and went through the necessary check in procedure so that I would not be accused of being some creepy adult sneaking around school and ultimately escorted out by security.

Then I walked to Hayden’s class room.

I smiled as I saw my boy working at his desk.

I whispered yelled his name.

Nothing.

I spoke his name.

Nothing.

I called his name like I was trying to speak over a crowded room.

Nothing.

I yelled his name.

And a classmate of his tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the door as I smiled at that his teacher and apologized for yelling and disturbing the class.

“Hayden,” I said, “It’s time to go to the doctor.”

“Ok, mom” he said as he got up from his chair.

He turned to say goodbye to his teacher and then something strange happened.

Suddenly, every single girl in Hayden’s class room raised their arms and began begging him for his attention, telling him that they wanted a hug goodbye.

I stood there dumbfounded.

My son gave me a look that totally said, “Mom, I got this” and then went around the room hugging each girl and saying goodbye.

“Hayden,” I said after he hugged three girls and there were still about five waiting, “You know that you will be back in about an hour, right?”

“Mom, I am just telling my girls goodbye. I am going to miss them,” he said rolling his eyes at me.

And that was when I knew I needed to scour the internet for a Fred Flintsone size club as soon as freaking possible.