“Wow, Four Boys!”
I get this every time I step out in public with my kids. Feeling like a freak show act. Greeted with warm smiles and unsolicited advice I often get asked if my husband and I are “done” or if we are going to try for that girl. More often than not I get the “You sure have your hands full”.
Yes, yes I do. Although I don’t undermine parents with fewer children, I sure do get a good laugh out of those who vent about how stressful life with less. I can’t speak for parents of all girls, or mix gender sibling households. However I can testify what it is like to have a house full of boys. It’s loud, never clean and forget about having nice things. Perhaps that’s the life of raising children in general.
I’ve been told over and over through the years raising boys and girls is completely different. That girls are harder than boys because they are more dramatic. Or that girls are easier when they are little and harder when they are teens, with boys being the complete opposite. How boys grow up to take care of their mothers, and although that sounds lovely, I know in my heart that once they grow to marry I will always be second. Since deciding we are “done” having kids the idea of not having a daughter still haunts me. Even though my mother and I don’t live close I consider her one of my best friends. She’s like a second mother to my children. We share a bond only a mother and daughter can. The emotional connection knowing what it is like to carry a child.
That being said, these observations and options are completely my own.
It was only my sister and I growing up. I never knew what it was like living with boys. You heard the “they never put down the toilet seat” rumor or the smell but I have learned quickly it so much more than that. I have decided to start a series here on McIntosh Manor where I tell you the horror yet humorous stories I’ve experienced over the years, along with the ones that are surely to come.
I’ll end this post with a classic Them Boys story from the past.
Late one night…
after my husband and I put the kids to bed, we heard recognizable pitter-patter upstairs. The two older boys, no older than 5 and 7 shared a bedroom. I went upstairs to investigate, fully expecting one of the two to be out a bed. As I approach their bedroom I could see a small dark human form running back in forth in the darkness. Only by the cracked bathroom door where the light had been left on could I tell there was movement.
As I opened the door and turned on the bedroom light I noticed my third child, roughly 2, naked in his brothers’ bedroom. He had taken off his soiled diaper, stomped on it, and some how managed to have it not only caked into the carpet but smeared all over the walls, as well as his brothers’ bed frames. With every second passing in absolute disgusts I noticed the mess continued into one of the older boys’ beds. The little “artist” had crawled into bed with his brother and preceded to cover him in waste. In complete shock and horror I slowly woke my sleeping child, who was completely oblivious to what had happened. I tried not to alarm him but told him his brother had an accident in his bed and he needed to take a shower.
My husband and I spend the next hour sanitizing the room. Needless to say the images of the fecal cave man paintings of that night still haunt me.
As the blog grows I plan on adding to the Them boys Series, so stayed tuned.
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