I see you looking in my direction with shock, awe and the same curiosity you have when a semi is on fire on the side of the highway. You want to look away from me and my posse of boys, but you are certain that there will be carnage that you simply can’t miss out on. Soon, you will be empowered with what you believe is your inalienable right to douse me in your verbal diarrhea about how terrible it must be to be a mom of boys.
Much to your surprise, I am just like any other mom, but I happen to have a lot of people in my house who pee standing up. I have been a mother for nearly nine years and in that time I have heard every disparaging comment you can imagine about my Handsomes. (They aren’t just boys, they are devastatingly good looking; therefore, Handsome is a much more appropriate term.)
You’re curious about my house, right? Like, is it a fantastic mess all the time? Yes, having sons means complete and total chaos 100 percent of the time. As a matter of fact, I live in a world of such horror and disgrace, I no longer do laundry or dust anything. Instead, we all bask in the glory of our filth and breathe in the dirty boy smell at all times.
I see the concern in your face when the Handsomes speak. Boys are so loud and violent! Is there every any peace and quiet in my house? No. You see, instead of trying to teach my sons manners and how to behave appropriately in social situations, I just keep them down in the basement and let them fight it out gladiator style. We don’t eat at the table. Instead, I throw scraps of food down the steps and let them scavenge like dogs. That way, I don’t have to worry about doing dishes…Win/Win!!
I know that our bathrooms really get your upset. I mean, if your husband can’t aim properly, how in the world can three boys, right? This isn’t actually a problem at all. My Handsomes aren’t toilet trained, they are deck trained. Instead of ruining my pretty white porcelain with their dirty bodily fluids, they just free pee into the backyard. It saves us a lot of money on watering in the summer months and in the winter I am able to be sure that they actually went before bed because I can see the yellow snow.
Now, let’s move on to toys and games. How on earth can I possibly like all of those boy things? Shhhh, it’s our little secret, but I don’t show any interest in what my sons like. Unless they want to play Barbies or maybe My Little Ponies, they are of no use to me at all. I mean, I am a girl, so how could I possibly enjoy Transformers or Ninja Turtles or Minecraft or sports? Oh yucky! I leave that stuff to their father and I worry about ironing his pants and having his dinner on the table on time.
Oh, and let me guess, you feel sorry for me, don’t you? Gosh, I appreciate that. It’s really tough being me. I hate all of the weeds that The Handsome’s pick then arrange in juice glasses for me. I totally hate the macaroni necklace that was made for me last Mother’s Day. And those stupid handprint hearts that are all over my refrigerator, those are the worst. God, I wish that those were made with little girl’s fingerprints. They would be so much more meaningful and pretty if these were. Stupid boys.
Suddenly, your eyes are like a deer in headlights. You have spotted my baby daughter in the cart. I can hear it now. Oh my gosh, your baby is a girl, you couldn’t stop until you got that daughter, huh? Actually, you’re wrong. I am an Irish Catholic and my husband and I have continued to breed for the sole purpose of filling up an entire pew with our own brood at midnight mass. In the interest of all the other church goers who can’t believe that we have three boys already, and took a risk that we might have a fourth but luckily got a girl, we hope to have six or twelve more boys in the future. The pews are really, really long and we would like our family to stretch from one end to the other one day.
My Handsomes are kind, loving and precious boys who have taken my heart and melted it into a pile of sticky goo not unlike the tracks that they leave all over my hardwood floors. But I wouldn’t trade a handpicked weed from the yard, a basket full of mud-covered shirts or a transformer tucked under my sheet at night for anything in the world. So before you tell me how horrible it must be or how glad you are that you aren’t me or you thank God that time of your life is over, just remember that I am raising the next generation of men who will treat others kindly, respectfully and as gentleman…..though I cannot guarantee they won’t still be peeing on the seats…..
The Woman Who Will Never Give One Damn About What You Think…Ever
About the author: Colleen Dilthey Thomas is a sister to three brothers, a mother to three sons, a wife to one husband and an expert on absolutely nothing to do with boys. She recently gave birth to a baby girl, she’s not quite sure what to do with her either. She chronicles the wise words of her sons, The Handsomes, and her own misadventures on Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/comeoncolleen and her blog www.comeoncolleen.com.