Cindy the guinea pig and I don't stand a chance

Last night our entire family was hanging out in the super six year old's room, getting ready for bed. The tiny toddler was all bundled up in his fuzzy footie pajamas and sitting on my lap. I was attempting to read a book to him that his daycare teacher had allowed him to bring home. Actually, I'm not so sure he wanted to bring it home. I am thinking that maybe his teacher wanted  him to bring it home because it is all about learning patience and appropriate ways to gain attention. It's a great book and I wanted my tiny toddler to really listen and take to heart the theme. He, on the other hand, however, wanted to giggle at the pictures in the book and blow raspberries at my face. Spitting on Mommy is one of his favorite past times.

While I was dodging spit from the tiny toddler the super six year old was engaged in a rousing game of catch with Daddy. While I was trying to calm down the tiny toddler and wind down his more than difficult day Daddy was sitting on the bed tossing a football across the room at my oldest son. Who, to his credit, was catching it most of the time. At one point, though, Daddy lobbed the football a little too high and we all watched in horror as it flew through the air, bounced off the fish bowl, and landed on the dresser. Every single human in the room gave their usual response: the tiny toddler clapped and cheered, and then started giggling so hard that he had to cover his mouth. The super six year old looked as though he was about to burst into tears, thinking he was going to get in trouble. My sweet husband looked surprised and then started laughing as well. And me? I wanted to throw everyone out of the room. I wanted to say, "I told you not to throw that football in this room!" Instead I said, "OK, put the football away, NOW!" And then it hit me. A thought, not the football.

My husband. Two sons. The cat. The fish. ALL MALE. Cindy the guinea pig and I are the only females in this household. We don't stand a chance.

The toilet seat will always be up.

Pull Ups or underwear will always be on the floor.

Table manners will include burping and tossing rolls.

Wet towels will always be on the bed or bathroom floor.

Footballs, bouncy balls, plastic balls, soccer balls, every type of ball ever invented, will frequently be flying through the air inside my home.

I will sit through a million football games, whether from the sofa while watching the game on TV, in real life from a professional team's stadium, or on the sidelines of a youth league. Actually, I am OK with this, as I like football. But still, it's a fact. And let's face it, many of those games will not be played during blue sky, sunny, warm days.

Everything will move at the speed of light. My boys are incapable of walking. They must run everywhere or they will die.

On top of moving fast, it will be loud. As in rock concert loud.

Pirates, rock collections, dogs, mud.

And I love it, I really do. Of course I do. These are my boys, all three of them. I love what they love. I am at peace when they are happy. But in the middle of the yelling and running and cleaning mud off of everything I need to be sure that while allowing them to be the boys they are we don't lose sight of teaching them what they need to become the men we want them to be. Men who believe in God. Men who lead their hearts instead of allowing their hearts to lead them. Men who hold doors open and say "please" and "thank you". Men who know the importance of spending time with family and who want to be a part of a "tribe", whether that means family or friends. Men who won't drive their significant others crazy. And prior to that, men who won't drive me crazy as we grow through this process.

As my boys grow up it will be easier for me to find the time to sneak away for "girl time". I am already able to let them play in the child watch while I work out, which is a start. My husband watches chick flicks because he knows I like them, which is awesome. But I am quickly learning that I am not able to function when life gets too loud or too crazy. It is at these moments that I need to step back, take a deep breath, and learn to enjoy the footballs flying through the air. Raising boys takes me out of my comfort zone sometimes. But other times, I can fit right in. This morning I chose to wing my husband's vitamins at him from across the kitchen table. Sadly, my aim is not as good as my boys' and I managed to toss the fruit shaped gummy vitamins right into his glass of water. Cheers erupted all around the table. Oh yeah, I can keep up!

someone always takes a nose dive

The fact that I am surrounded by boys nearly 100% of my time is starting to wear on me. Between my husband and two sons there is a lot of testosterone flying around my home. Even the cat is male. When the boys were smaller it didn't seem as obvious as it does now. And I fear it will only get worse. I fear for what the future holds.

My tiny toddler is a 2 year old going on 10. His current favorite word is poop and I often walk into his room in the morning to find him laying in his crib, hand down the front of his diaper. The noises, the potty humor, the messes, the nose dives off every piece of furniture we own... sometimes it's a lot to deal with.

Last summer/fall my big five year old had back to back sports. Between flag football and tee ball we were at some sort of ball field two times a week. I loved watching my little guy play- especially football. He's fast and he gets the rules and truly loves the sport, which means I love watching him playing it.  But the mud on his shoes. The gross wet mouth guard being spit into my hand. The dirty uniforms. The dirt and mud everywhere- the car, the house, the washing machine. All the sports practices and everything that comes along with it- the laundry, the snack prep, the getting the whole family out the door on time, on top of the astronomical number of hours we watch sports on the TV. Backyard time is all, "Mommy play football with me. Mommy throw the ball to me. Mommy tackle me!" It's like I live inside the ESPN channel.  And when we are in the  the backyard NOT playing sports someone is taking a nose dive off the toddler slide.

 
 I have been caught by my son's doctor explaining to a stuffed sheep why we don't say the word poop. I have listened to my tiny toddler yell poop up and down the aisles of the local grocery store, with what felt like hundreds of witnesses. I have been trapped in a car while two of my boys (husband and oldest son) sing, "Under a shady tree, poop and pee", to Laurie Berkner. (The real words are "Under a shady tree, you and me...") When we leave school at the end of the day and I tell my tiny toddler to say "goodbye" to his friends he turns back to them and shouts "Bye Bye Pee Pee!". I have no idea if he is addressing the class as a whole or if there is one little friend worthy of the name "Pee Pee". When I ask my tiny toddler a seemingly innocent question such as "What is Daddy doing?" I get this response, "Daddy Poop!" or "Daddy ewwww!" (in our family, like every other family, we have our own  little language. "Make ewww" is something we just started saying to the big five year old when he was a baby, as in "Did you make ewww? Do you need your diaper changed?")

I freeze and hold my breath countless times a day as I watch one of both of my boys fling themselves off the couch onto the floor. I may be over reacting but I swear they are going to break their necks one day somersaulting off the living room furniture. I pick them up and dust them off after they catapult themselves off the top of the sofa, dropping straight down to the floor, often head first. I watch in horror as the big five year old slides down the banister and flies down a hill on his bike. They stand up in the tub, dance on the coffee table, bounce on the bed... I can see how the momma of those bed bouncing monkeys kept letting her little monkey babies fall off the bed, one after the other. Although I doubt I would have called the doctor each time. I wonder, frequently, how I would know if they one day suffer some horrible head trauma from all this boy induced craziness. I mean, let's face it, they act pretty strange on a good day. Last week I witnessed my tiny toddler run straight into a tall glass display case at church, one that he has walked up to a thousand times. He ran right at it like a bull, bouncing off and falling backwards. Yesterday he fell off his Hot Wheels motorcycle, while it was standing still. He wasn't even riding it. Took a nose dive off the motorcycle.

Every book we read in this house is about sports, or trucks, or monster trucks, or cars, or NASCAR, or wheels, or dinosaurs,  or diggers and bulldozers, or Santa. The tiny toddler has a thing for "Ho Ho". Every. Single. Book.And there is no sitting still for the reading of these books. Eventually someone takes a nose dive off the chair.

Don't get me wrong, sometimes we have tea parties. But eventually one of the stuffed animals gets tackled, tea is spilled, little tiny cups are used as weapons, cookies are smashed into the carpet. And someone takes a nose dive off the couch. Even if we are eating at the table the boys end up on the table and the food ends up on the floor. And then, one, or both, of the boys also ends up on the floor.

yes, he was just run over by that truck. another nose dive.

Someone always takes a nose dive.