Boys Will Be Boys
As a wife and the mother of four boys, I have discovered that the male of the species can be one of the most entertaining creatures on the planet. My two daughters are wonderful and I love them dearly, but somehow they don’t intrigue me as much as the “menfolk” in my house. That may be because being female myself, it is easier for me to relate to the girls. I sometimes wonder if I will ever understand the boys.
My husband, Michael, is a strict disciplinarian - most of the time. The problem is that he is very unpredictable. Just yesterday, I left the house to run an errand. I took the four younger children with me, leaving my husband and the two older boys at home. Our 10-year old son, Jeff, was doing his homework when I left. His older brother, Jeremy, was feeding the dogs. My husband, who was in a terrible mood, was getting ready for work.
I came back about an hour later to find my house in a state of siege. Jeff was crouching beneath the kitchen window, clutching the garden rake in his hands. He was bumping the prongs of the rake on the window screen. Before I could even ask what was going on, I saw Michael through the window. He held a glass of water in his hand. With a flick of his wrist he sent the contents of the glass through the screen, soaking Jeff. Jeff laughed and jumped up. From the condition of my son’s shirt, it was obvious that this little game had not just started. I proceeded into the house, where I found Michael preparing another “load.” Jeremy was bouncing around in the kitchen, yelling encouragement to both parties.
Upon being asked if Jeff’s homework was finished, all three of the conspirators immediately looked at each other. The next thing I knew, there were accusations of “Michael started it!,” “No, I didn’t, Jeff did!,” and “It’s all so-and-so’s fault!” flying through the air. I looked at my husband in disbelief. I could not believe that this was the same irate individual I had so recently seen. His reaction? “Hi, honey. I was just trying to get ready for work. Honest!”
This type of incident is commonplace around my house. One summer, Jeff and Jeremy brought home a snake that they had been “given.” I should mention that my husband can not stand snakes. Because Jeremy had been nicked by the edge of one of the snake’s teeth, I put the snake in a bucket for a while. That way, if Jeremy had a reaction, I could show them exactly what kind of snake it was. When Michael came home a few hours later, I told him what had happened and asked him to go ahead and dispose of the snake.
A few minutes later, Michael asked in a strange voice, “Which bucket did you put the snake in?” Upon being told the snake was in the pink bucket, he walked into the room carrying an empty pink bucket. “Do you mean THIS pink bucket?” A frantic search began for the missing reptile. For the next 15 minutes, I all heard was Michael’s muttering about “Crazy people bringing snakes into my house!,” interspersed with Jeff and Jeremy’s well-meaning suggestions of where to look. The snake was finally located in the middle drawer of my dresser, where he was resting comfortably. Unfortunately, it took nearly a month before Michael could do the same.
The males in my house have perfected the innocent, injured party look. At a moment’s notice, each of them has an uncanny ability to transform into the image of a model citizen. When I try to go to sleep at night, I often hear them all laughing and roughhousing in the living room. Mind you, I’m rarely able to catch them at it. They have some type of radar that warns them when Mom is coming out of the bedroom. By the time I get into the living room, they are all sitting quietly watching television or reading. With an angelic smile, one or the other will look up and say, “Hi, Mom. What’s wrong? Can’t you sleep?” Men!
I guess the old saying is true - “You can’t live with them and you can’t shoot them.” At least life is never boring when they’re around.
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Copyright © Linda Kendzierski, 2004-2005
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