Snakes and Snails... and All That

Boys!

They are a special breed.

Yesterday I got a phone call from the school, but this time it wasn't the nurse. No, it was one of the lunchroom monitors. Clay had spilled his Minute Maid orange juice all over himself while eating lunch. Could I bring him a change of clothes?

Well, sure. It's what I live for as a stay-at-home mom. (I really mean that. No sarcasm.)

When I got to the school, Clay was sitting outside the front office along with a friend of his. I gave Clay a bag of clean clothes and sent him to the nearest boys' bathroom. With instructions to put his juicy clothes in the bag instead of leaving them strewn across the bathroom floor in hopes that I would be along to pick them up behind him.

And then I chatted with his little friend. I thought he might be sick and waiting for his ride home.

It's funny how the whole story always comes out just one bit at a time.

Clay's friend's grandmother pulled up in front of the school. She walked in, carrying a bag. Of clean clothes. Because Clay's juice had spilled all over his friend as well.

But they weren't playing at lunch. No.

I know because I asked. And I was told there was no playing going on.

Sure I believe him. He's my son, after all.

Whatever!

Boys!

Seriously, I love being a mom to boys.

Being a mom to a girly girl is great, too. But I was never a girly girl. I had brothers.

My baby dolls had their hair cut for retribution for whatever heinous act I had committed. My barbies were thrown in mud puddles along with my brothers' monster trucks. For years, I could beat my older brother in a race around my grandparents' house. And I could go way higher in a tree climbing contest between me and both my brothers.

One of my dad's favorite stories about me when I was little had me as protector of my older brother. Some older boy was making fun of him outside our home. Dad was inside, just about to go out and put a stop to it. Out of the blue, I whizzed up, kicked the older boy in the shin, told him to leave my big brother alone and whizzed right back outta there.

I always wanted a sister when I was growing up, but never got one. In that way, I identify with my daughter. But when it comes to fingernail polish and shoes, I express an interest in those things for pure love of my girl.

Boys I understand.

Except the one I'm married to. He'll always be a mystery.