How many times have you received that e-mail “For Those of You Who Have Sons & Those of You Who Are Happy That You Don’t?” (Such an offensive title) Or the other e-mail titled “Why Boys Need Mothers?”
If I see that picture of the red headed boy with the frog in his mouth one more time...
Being the Queen of all moms of boys that I am, I have decided to stop the madness and create a gem that is based on fellow Queen's boy stories.
So go forth, forward away and multiply the Queendom.
Moms of boys know that their sons will:
Insist on wearing their super hero costume for weeks, never change socks and practice the sniff-and-wear approach to dressing.
Never know where their other shoe is.
Whip off their pull up, throw it to the ceiling and dance in a shower of diaper gel pellets.
Be able to tell which brother farted by the smell alone.
Wipe boogers on the wall, paint with poo during their artistic brown period and extend their budding magic marker tattoo talents to the dog.
Make your car insurance go sky high after “That curb came out of nowhere!”
Play a game consisting of setting mouse traps on a chair and then sitting on them. Whoever remains the most stoic wins.
Light their farts not realizing they are in the beginning throws of puberty resulting in an unfortunate hair scorching incident. They will then wear their bathrobe to the ER.
Start phone calls with, “Hey Mom. I’m okay but...”
Peddle off the roof and into the swimming pool on their BMX bikes.
Have a contest to see how accurate their aim is by peeing into a cereal box set up in the driveway.
Leave crayons, army men, trading cards, coins, bugs and the occasional snotty kleenex in their pockets so you can find them in the dryer lint trap.
Have phone calls with their friends using only monosyllables and grunts.
Lock their babysitter in the bathroom, duct tape their brother and then raid the pantry.
Poop in the display potty at Home Depot.
Decorate the kitchen floor with peanut butter, BBQ sauce and honey.
Cut their own hair with safety scissors.
Put playdoh in their diapers.
Pee anytime, anywhere; on the doctor in the delivery room, in front of church, on the baseball field, in the bathroom trash can, in potted plants...
Proclaim it loudly when they notice that someone has a big butt, is a dwarf or an amputee.
Never learn how to put clothes away, replace a roll of toilet paper or throw out empty boxes of snacks.
Text you when you’re in the same room.
Wad up lengths of toilet paper into a loose cannonball, place them in an upended hand dryer nozzle and hit the button.
Place beenie babies on the blades of the ceiling fan and then turn it on high.
Love you forever.
Text Copyright © 2008 by Linda Marie Ford