Posted in boys, WrestleMania 25, wrestling

The Frat House

When did my home turn into a frat house? When did my living room turn into a wrestling room? When did I realize that I was destined to watch Wrestling, Baseball and Football for the rest of my life? Perhaps if I was a mother to girls, I would have watched a princess movie instead of John Cena’s 12 Rounds last weekend. Perhaps if I was a mother to girls, my home would be less messy, my voice would be less hoarse, and perhaps, just perhaps, I would not somehow get pushed into a wrestling match that I did not want to be a part of that started out in my nine year old’s bedroom and somehow ended up in my living room where I was trying to enjoy a cup of coffee and the evening news. Well, so much for wishing I was not the only girl in this house.

Do mothers of girls always scream, “You stink, take a shower!” several times a day? I did it with my stepson and now with my nine year old, and soon my seven month old will be hearing me shout several catch phrases as well, such as:
“Stop wrestling your friend in the living room”
“The neighbors are going to call the police, you are too loud!”, or
“For god’s sake, why do you stink all the time!”

When did my home turn into a frat house where all the boys in the neighborhood, including my nephews, meet to drive my neighbors crazy? On the other hand, why do they always manage to throw the ball into a neighbor’s yard? Moreover, how do I end up in the middle of a wrestling match that started in a nine-year-old boy’s bedroom and somehow ended up on my living room couch? Better yet, why do I always look worn out? Perhaps, it is all the shouting and the mounds of dirty laundry that needs more than extra strength bleach to get clean. Or perhaps, it is the constant look of frustration I have on my face every time I ask one of the boys “Why did you do that? What were you thinking?” Or when I ask my husband, “what was he thinking?”, and my husband responds that I really do not want to know what little boys or teenage boys are thinking? And when I add, “how bad could it be?” and my husband responds “trust me, honey; you do not want to know.”

More interestingly, why does my sister, mother of four girls (you heard it, no boys) always look like she just had a professional makeover and I, mother of three (amazing and wonderful) boys, always looks like I haven’t slept in days? I suppose the answer is as complicated as why I have had more trips to the ER in one year for one child versus the times she has visited the ER in ten years with four girls, SIGH.

Being a mother to boys does not mean I will ever have the answers, but I can definitely say that my life is interesting and that I have never felt more loved than I did after I became a mother. Nevertheless, for now, I am still going to figure out how everything turns into a wrestling match, including having waffles for breakfast and what is so cool and funny about farting. And true, I will never have a cup of coffee in peace, but I don’t think I would trade what I have for silence. Besides, if I really need some girl time, I can call any one of my eight nieces. As for tonight, it is a Wrestlemania 25 date with my nine year old.

“Every genuine boy is a rebel and an anarch. If he were allowed to develop according to his own instincts, his own inclinations, society would undergo such a radical transformation as to make the adult revolutionary cower and cringe.” John Andrew Holmes


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