Boys, Boys, Boys

I have not one, not two, but THREE smelly boys. They range in age from:

15, which translates to eating every minute of the day, body odor, a constant boner, very long showers, his phone is now a growth on his hand, and my aversion to EVER stepping foot in his bedroom again.

13, AKA filthy comment for everything, more body odor yet fewer boners, refusal to brush his teeth regularly, blackheads as far as the eye can see, feet growing at the speed of light, and the need to always be right.

And finally, ten—the baby who won’t stop growing almost eats as much as the other two, has had B.O since he was five, enjoys “sarcastic Wednesday” even though his teachers DO NOT (neither does Mom), and I swear changes pant sizes every week.

I love them fiercely and wholly. I struggle with being a good, loving-but-stern mom, raising them up in the way they should go and wanting to go all Rhonda Rousey on them! However, they are all bigger than me now. When they fight, I actually debate: Do I let them fight it out and risk damaging my home, or do I run to grab the hose and break it up Step-Brothers style?

At the end of the day, though, there is nothing like a boys' love for his mom. He may curse your name one minute, but he will bring you flowers the next. They make me breakfast in bed on my birthday and tell me I look pretty when I don’t, and they still let me kiss them goodnight. I can’t ask for too much more, and I won’t, even though some days I want to beg them to just stay little.

But then there are other times, when I wonder if they will make it to adulthood. I get phone calls from the school on a weekly, if not daily basis. The school has a dress code that borders on uniforms. They can wear school-related t-shirts, shirts with collars, and blue jeans or shorts that are solid colors. No large logos on anything. They keep a mixed bag of clothing for kids who don’t comply (eeek, cooties) and my kids have had to dip into the cootie bucket more than once! They swear, they fight, they argue with the teachers and bust ketchup packets in science class. Well, “they” really means the 13-year-old. His little brother is following in his footsteps. It’s funny though, because I react completely different with my baby. I’ve yelled at the Vice Principal AND the Student Liaison—YELLED at them—over him! When I get calls about the 13-year-old, I immediately assume they are telling me the truth, but I’ll be damned if you are going to tell me that my baby is less than a sweetheart (I’m not naïve, but I’m not hearing it about my baby!). Thank you, sweet baby Jesus, that my 15-year-old is an amazing student. He's making straight A’s. He's never done that. I think he knows the other two put me to the brink so he just channels his inner awesome!

They push me to the brink of insanity every day...but always love me down off the ledge at the last minute!