what boys are made of

Warn your daughters. Boys are just gross. Especially pre-adolescent boys.

I recently spent a full day with four boys - ages 6, 7, 9 and 10. (I should add that this was not by choice, but at hubby’s request that Mom spend some “quality” time with her sons. And it was a birthday celebration for my two.) The experience (for me) was not celebratory in the least, but it was eye-opening.

I grew up with five brothers, so much of what I saw, heard and smelled should not have surprised me. But I suppose now I’m seeing these smelly creatures from a Mom’s perspective instead of a child’s. Apparently I’m getting less tolerant as I age.

I would be seriously scared if I had four daughters - especially once they get past the point of thinking boys have cooties. Who knew they were dead-on with that assessment.

And don’t think for a minute that I’m not mortified that my children are kind of disgusting, as most boys are. I’m still pondering that cooties bit - maybe a good de-lousing wouldn’t be a bad idea. I could herd them up like cattle, sprinkle on the powder, watch them scratch a bit and presto-chango, no more cooties. The cooties probably come from the snips, snails and puppy dog tails, so says Mother Goose. And they’d just pick them right up again after splashing in some muckhole, or petting a frog or squishing a worm.

So, here I am with two of my boys and two of their friends, who happen to also be brothers, spending a day at the Nickelodeon Park at the Mall of America - a place I normally would avoid, even without kids. Add children to the mix and it’s the making of a disaster.

One child kept chewing on his sweatshirt like a puppy dog. One was too scared to go on any ride higher than six inches off the ground. One smelled. And one was wearing pants two sizes too big. (I won’t divulge which kids were mine.)

I about had a nervous breakdown with the crowds at the Park, the lines at Subway and the fact that I was now carrying my purse, my knitting bag (which didn’t even get cracked open), two sweatshirts, a cup of pop and a bag of half-eaten snacks and water bottles. Add to that trying to keep track of four boys, none of whom wanted to ride the same rides at the same time and one who wouldn’t go on anything and I was frazzeled beyond belief by the time 4 pm rolled around.

On the hour-long drive home, I went from shaking my head at the things these kids said to nearly gagging from the things they did. I’m guessing that anyone eavesdropping on conversations between boys would hear something similar, which got me to thinking - what would they talk about if they were girls?

These males could discuss any bodily function at length and the grosser the better, the louder the better and the smelliest one wins. And of course, being male, each one tried to outgross the others. The hands-down winner thankfully wasn’t my child. This six-year-old nearly made me throw up (and just from hearing what was going on - I didn’t have the nerve to look in the reaview mirror.)

He started blowing snot out of his nose and onto his pretzel sticks, then grossing out the others by eating the pretzel, booger and all.

Lock your daughters up. Honestly, that’s what I thought.

Perhaps I should clarify my first statement - boys are gross - by amending it to: little boys are gross. I’m not sure at what point boys lose their cooties, but I’m grateful that God does eventually cleanse the germs out of them - I believe he does that right about the time puberty hits. In about 10 years my boys will be miraculously cootie-free, better looking and less gross - then you can unlock your daughters.

I will not, however, guarantee that they won’t find the stinkier side of life amusing - that humor’s in them forever. Along with a love of noise, speed and mud. That’s what boys are made of.