I have always said that I was meant to be a mom of boys. I was a teenage girl once and I know for a fact that I CANNOT handle the emotions of that beast.
I’m not overly girly, but I’m not a tomboy either. I like my hair to be nice. I like to dress fashionably. And more often than not, I pop on a pair of high heels instead of flats, but by no means do I sit in front of a mirror for hours to get ready to go on a date. In fact, I pride myself on the fact that I can get ready for a date in less than 45 minutes.
From shower to walking out the door people!
It can be done.
I’m more of a mom that likes to play football in the back yard, or go creek walking instead of playing with dolls and dressing up in Cinderella costumes. I like getting dirty and sweaty playing sports instead of cheering on the sideline with a freshly primped pony tail doused in ribbons. I like to have light sabre battles, and play NBA2K11 on the xbox, with my kids of course. It’s not like I sit around and do this stuff on my own. I would much rather be outside making mud pies instead of inside baking cookies.
You get my drift?
I love being a mom of boys.
On most days.
Lately though around my house, my boys have had a growing fixation with balls. No, not the kind you use to shoot baskets, hit with a baseball bat or kick around on the soccer field.
Oh no, not those kinds of balls.
The kind of balls I’m talking about are the kind that I, as a single woman with horrible luck on the man front, don’t get the opportunity to “play” with very often.
You know, as we like to refer to them in our house, “family jewels”. Or as you may like to refer to them in your house, dingalings, testes, gooseberries, jingle balls, tater tots, dongers, weeble wobbles, whirly gigs, nuggets, baubles, trouser snakes, the Pee Wee Herman, and don’t forget “boy parts” as we refer to them when we must talk about them at places like church and school functions.
Lately in my house, just the mere thought or mention of these balls sends my boys into fits of uncontrollable giggles.
And I can’t help it…when they giggle, so do I.
Does that make me a bad mom?