The Leaning Tower of Penis
If you’ve ever read any of my posts, you know I have three really cool kids – most of the time. I mean, I always have three kids. They just aren’t always cool. However, for the purposes of this post, my girls are safe. As you can tell by the title, I want to talk about life with boys.
Technically, only one boy lives in my house, my fifteen-year-old son, Nick. However, because I have a slew of nephews, there is always extra testosterone floating around. The result is usually a messy house and an empty refrigerator.
Let’s start with the most obvious joy of having boys in the house – the smell. Holy mother of God, the stench. I had no idea when my adorable baby boy grew up he would often smell like a sweat coated fart. I have a fairly strong stomach, but I’m not afraid to admit the odor emanating from his athletic equipment has brought tears to my eyes. Once, while trying to remove his football pads from the jersey he let marinate in the back of his father’s truck for three days, I literally had to take several breaks and hold my breath. Finally, exhausted and sweating, tears rolling down my cheeks, aided by my mental fortitude and faith in God, I wrestled his crusty uniform into the washing machine. It was a horrific experience I hope never to repeat.
The nasal assault does not end with sports uniforms, though. Anyone with boys knows they find nothing funnier than farting. Any kind of fart will get a laugh, but the stinkier, the better. Nick’s favorite trick is to fart in the car. Just open the window you say? Oh no, he’s got that escape route covered. With him in the passenger seat and me in the driver’s seat, he will hold the window control button down so I cannot open his window. Therefore, if I want to survive without incinerating my nasal passages, I am forced to open my own window, which pulls the noxious fumes from his side to mine. Double whammy.
And another thing, you can forget ever having food in the house. Boys are ravenous predators, devouring any stray pizza roll and snack in sight. I’m never fooled by an offer to help carry groceries into the house. It’s not a genuine act of kindness, it’s a deliberate and calculated move to position oneself closer to the food. I know any assistance unpacking the purchases will be quickly sidelined at the first Doritos sighting. Gluttony is an obvious side effect of the y chromosome, so we won’t spend too much time discussing this one.
Finally, I’ll explain the title. Boys are obsessed with penises. Everything from penis jokes to drawing penises to regularly checking if their own penises are still attached is fair game. I’ve heard more “Deez Nutz” jokes than any one person ever needs to hear. Just the other night, I walked into my bedroom to find what we have dubbed The Leaning Tower of Penis. I had a SAM splint lying around. In case you don’t know, this is a flexible splint with the ability to be molded into any position. Very useful for traumatic injuries and, apparently, making penis shapes. Nick molded my poor first aid supplies into the form of the male genitalia, complete with testicles and positioned it on my night stand where I couldn’t miss it. He refused to move it, claiming it was “art”. His sister destroyed it. He recreated it. I’m afraid it will never go away.
Alas, boys are not always smelly and voracious beasts. They are smart enough to temper their insanity inducing qualities with just the right amount of sweetness. Even at fifteen, Nick still likes to cuddle with his mama. He is helpful and kind, protective of his mother and sisters and is especially good at reaching high up items. As much as I complain about the dirty socks stuffed into the couch cushions and the mess in his bedroom, I love him to death and wouldn’t trade him for all the pleasant smells in the world.
