I get this a lot: “Oh, you have three boys. So you’re the princess of the house!”
(Obviously these are people who do not know me or my offspring.)
I’m sure that some moms of boys are treated like royalty. I’m sure they’re pampered and put on a pedestal. And maybe someday my boys will see me for the queen that I am. But now? Definitely not.
Take this morning, for example. You’d think today of all days—my birthday, for crying out loud, the one day I get to claim for my own—they’d treat me a wee bit differently.
And to give them a little credit (well at least two of the three), they tried. For about one minute.
After coming into my bed this morning and realizing it was my birthday, Boy #3 looked at me and exclaimed, “You’re bigger!”
Hmm…a total compliment if you’re 5, but when you’re 38? Ugh. But he gets a free pass because of his sweet naiveté.
And Boy #2 gave me a very genuine hug and told me happy birthday when he got up. And then proceeded to fight with Boy #3.
What other birthday treats did I get this morning? Let’s see …
- A very surly attitude from Boy #1, as well as the opportunity to deliver several admonitions for saying “shut up” and “freakin’,” both of which were recently banned by order of the Mother Dictator.
- A “trick” from the Dog, where he jumps on the table and knocks everything to the floor. And then the boys did their “trick” where they pretend not to see it so that Mom will pick everything up.
- A rise in blood pressure as I discover a half-eaten syrupy pancake sitting directly on top of Boy #3’s Nintendo DSi.
And on the drive to school? Peaceful? Tranquil? Think again. First, Boy #2 wouldn’t let me borrow his gloves so I could scrape the windows without acquiring frostbite on my fingers. (Never mind that I do live in Iowa and should probably have my own gloves in my pocket.)
Then Boys #2 and #3 pounded on a plastic tub that HAD held coloring books and the sort—until the bottom cracked and pieces broke off. And then they cheered. What IS it with boys and destroying things?
Finally, as I pulled into Boy #2’s school, Boy #3 played a round of our new favorite game, “Tattletale, Tattletale.” What was it this time, you ask? This: “Mom, Boy #2 says he can hear his penis!”
And what do you say to that?
It’s business as usual at the Boogers & Burps house. I’m a year older, apparently noticeably “bigger” than yesterday, and I think my tiara must be lost somewhere at the bottom of a basket of dirty clothes.