Boy Moms, Unite!

Being a Boy Mom means that my game plan always needs to consist of DON’T BE SURPRISED AT WHAT YOUR OPPONENT THROWS AT YOU.

Surprise is a weakness.  Moms who widen their eyes and gasp a little seldom become varsity starters.

I’ve found dead frogs in my freezer over the years.  I’ve had worms in my refrigerator.  I’ve found a Darth Vader action figure taped to the inside of the dryer.  I’ve dusted around snake skins, elk teeth and a fully-intact mouse skeleton that was the coveted prize uncovered from an owl pellet.

Just yesterday morning, I picked up a mug off the boy’s bookcase in his room, that seemed to be half full of tea.

It had been there for a while. The tea stains were severe and dust was floating in it.  I threw the sludge down the sink, used an SOS scrubbing pad to get the tea rings out of the cup, and popped the whole thing into the dishwasher.

Last night, the boy came hollering into the kitchen, where I was laboring over dinner preparations, asking, “WHERE IS THE CUP OF TEA THAT WAS SITTING ON MY BOOKCASE?”

As it turns out, that was a private science experiment that wasn’t sanctioned by the school.  I would have hated explaining THAT to the biology teacher.

“Um… yeah… so I threw the science experiment down the sink and washed the mug.  I had no paperwork filed for a permit to turn tea into mold on the premises.”

Every now and then, I run across something that Thing 2 has left behind, as well.

For example, I’m sure that Girl Mothers — who have never had the privilege of sitting at a dinner table to outrageous laughter over escaped gas that squealed across a wooden dining room chair — would look at the shelf in my refrigerator and exclaim, “Goodness!  What on earth do we have going on here?”

I’d be all, “What?  Are we out of milk again?  Dang it!  I JUST BOUGHT THAT CARTON YESTERDAY!”


Because… really?  Other than the fact that the shelf is empty (Get some groceries, why don’t you?), I don’t always notice the issue that mamas of all girls would immediately see.

Sometimes I don’t even notice things until I go to plug the hose on our central vacuum cleaner into the little spring-loaded door in the wall.


If I’m missing my stapler, it’s always bound to show up somewhere in the house…


And… I won’t lie.  We go through lotion at ridiculous rates in this house.  I mean, I KNOW that my winter skin is as pasty as Elmer’s glue and dry as the back of a lizard running through the Arizona desert, but sometimes I have a little help getting to the bottom of a bottle of Gold Bond moisturizing goop.

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Honestly, though, I’d rather run across a tanker truck hauling lotion than a deceased amphibian being preserved in my freezer.

Happy Wednesday, everyone.  The weekend is coming.

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