I have held onto this theory for some 8 years as a mom, and even the past 4 years since Matthew was born.
I have to admit, that the dream is fading. Sad as that is, it is true.
I am the mother of boys. We are a different club.
We are a group of women who are comfortable saying
Fart (and all of the slang versions incluidng Matthew's "Pop Bubbles")
Hands out of your pants
Don't touch that
I SAID DON'T TOUCH THAT!
Get off your brother
I SAID NO GUNS
I don't know who Anakin Skywalker's Dad is (OK, so I actually do know this, but that is newly acquired information for me)
I am not sure who won the first Superbowl
I don't know if there is a human that can break a chain with his hands
I don't know what the rules are for getting a drivers license for a firetruck
STOP making that noise (I don't care how accurate you are able to do a siren)
And obviously more.
It has become increasingly clear over the last few months that I will never have a daughter. *sigh*
And as obsessed as my children (specifically Nick) are with Star Wars and Football, I have learned to go with it. Yep, just go with it. Stop fighting. Testosterone wins. Ugh.
Sunday was spent with Nick, in all of his 5-year-old-going-on-15 glory watching football and discussing Star Wars with my husband in his 33-year-old-going-on-15 glory. Two peas in a pod.
My boys, both of them, would come down stairs rushing to tell about the score or the latest play. Their team, the KC Chiefs, always lose. They just do.
But, that doesn't stop either Nick or Jeff from the sheer elation of announcing a good play.
Sunday morning was something like this:
"MOM!!" I hear Nick scream as he runs down the hall, with my hubby at his heels--both of them grinning ear to ear.
"MOM! The Chiefs got a touch back. THAT'S 2 POINTS!" He yells as if he had just found out we won the lottery.
"Awesome son. That is the lowest possible number of points to score." I say laughing, and then add to my husband "Too bad the offense can't score." Ouch.
Off they run back to my room to watch the game.
Why MY room?
Because that is where the computer is hooked up to run an HD feed of the game, that is not otherwise being shown, through the computer and displayed on our TV like a monitor (you know we do NOT have a nice TV for the boys to watch, that would just be plain stupid, they are, after all, boys).
An hour or so passes with Nick repeating the same scenario with incredible statements like "We got a first down!" around half time, and the inevitable, "The game is over, and the Chiefs lost."
Which one might think my hyper competitive son would find upsetting, but not Nick.
The words right after were, "Now we can play Daddy's football video game!!" (Madden 2009 where Nick and Jeff get the opportunity to see the Chiefs win, at least virtually).
Finally, the games were over, for at least an hour or so, when I was talking with Gabriel.
"Do you still want to do dance?" I asked.
"Yeah, when is it?" He said.
"Monday, tomorrow, we'll go after school to try it."
"When is football?" Nick chimes in.
"Football starts Sunday."
"WHAT?! SUN-DAY?! But we watch football on Sundays." Nick says with a sheer level of grief that only an adult man should experience when being faced with missing the televised games to attend another event.
"You'll be OK, Nick." I say dismissing his concerns.
"We have the NFL pass online Nick, we can watch it after your game." Jeff reassures him.
Thank god for Internet. LOL
This is coming the day after Nick got his first chance to drive a Go-Kart.
We went to a birthday party for a friend and it was at the Go Kart race track.
That said, all of the boys did a great job and had fun.
But Nick actually took this SERIOUSLY.
That child has mad driving skills. That is scary.
He was power breaking around the corners, passing on the inside and causing pile ups on the track. I can't tell you how many times he was told to stop running into people, to which he responded in through his full face helmet by holding his arms up and shurgging his shoulders as if to say it wasn't his fault. It never is.
Too much testosterone is crazy. Crazy I tell you, crazy.
Matthew, today, had another chaotic day at school.
But today's charges were more mild: Kicked the puppet stand and had his hands in his pants.
Yes, I know, hands in the pants.
Did you remember the things I am used to saying that I listed above? Yes.
Hands in the pants doesn't exactly cause issue for me, but I understand that at school that could be a challenge. I sure hope they figure out how to stop that urge--if they do, I will be promptly applying that theory to all of my boys (yes, Jeff included).
When the boys were younger, and I envisioned having a daughter, I was stuck in that "picket fence" world where my boys didn't have their hands down their pants, they weren't wrestling and yelling or making such accurate machine gun noises that my heart actually skips a beat.
In my world, my daughter would be happy, safe, and well....wearing pink.
Something tells me if I had a girl she would feel really out of place in our Testosterone drive house. Or worse, be a Tom Boy.
The death of a dream.
Only time will tell. Never say never. And other sayings that keep the door open on having a girl just a little longer. :P
For all of you who have girls--go have a Tea Party and toast to us boy moms,