Boys are hugely affectionate. All of mine love a hug and a kiss. The older two will approach me when I am sitting and put their arms around me. The middle two frequently announce that they love me.
Boys are mental. They just are. Their energy knows no bounds. A ten minute rest is enough to re-charge their batteries and they are off again; to cause more devilment and mess. Whilst their defeated mother cowers in the corner and wonders if 5pm of an evening is too early to start drinking.
People love to count my boys for me. I am constantly reminded of how busy I am and that I have “my hands full there!” Sometimes I am offered all sorts of advice, some good, and some bad, but all of it with good intent. This is great but I much prefer some help. The odd spot of baby-sitting perhaps. Someone to come over and run them ragged so they are too tired to do anything except sit still and watch a bit of telly.
My first boy made me broody. As soon as he was born, I knew I wanted more. I had no idea how many and I stressed a little bit as I was 33 and thought time was against me. I needn’t have feared. Eight and a bit years later I have the birth certs, wrinkles and the odd grey hair to prove it!
Boys are huge advocates of toilet humour. The word “butt” creates much merriment. High fives are doled out if one of them farts and kudos is given to the one who manages “a silent but deadly” effort. Belching competitions are frequent. Whilst their long suffering mother wonders if they will ever tire of such juvenile high jinks.
Boys are sweaty beings with a tendency to strip. Anytime. Anywhere. They’re not fussy like that.
Boys dislike changing their underwear. It’s quite remarkable the lengths they will go to in order to get out of this simple request.
Boys are endlessly curious. And loud. They can be obnoxious and I say that with much love. They love nature. The outdoors and water. Boy do they love water. It could be an ocean, a puddle, a bath or a swimming pool. They love the stuff.
It’s all fun and games until someone starts crying. Read numbers 2 and 5 again because this is usually how the tears start. A fun game or a joke taken too far ends up with a punch fest, a bump and maybe even a nose bleed.
Despite what people may think, boys are sensitive folk. They also like to read. They have amazing, incredible imaginations. They don’t hold grudges. And as those lovely people mentioned above are so fond of telling me, I’m lucky to have four fine young lads to look after me!
Go on. Make yourself a cuppa, get comfortable and click on the link above to have a good read. You know you want to.