Boyness

I am the only girl in this house. Boyness surrounds me.

Tonight I was chillin’ on the sofa at the end of our bed (a fabulous IKEA purchase), watching the synchronized diving, marveling at what appeared to be dangerously thin, smooth-shaven boys in tiny swimsuits and wondering how they felt about being semi-naked on tv. One of those guys was only 14. I am certain that there are eighth grade girls in his class who won't be able to look him in the eye when school starts. What's wrong with trunks, anyway? Are aerodynamics really that important?

I digress. As I was pondering speedos and synchronization, the boys came running into the room battling one another with foam bowling pins. They were laughing hysterically, and it was one of those moments when we really understood what it means to be brothers - a constant best friend. Trey remarked that they must have missed each other today (they'd been together every second for the last week or so), and we laughed at their shenanigans. A great family moment.

Then for some strange reason Tucker decided to lay on the bed and start kicking me in the head like he was competing in the 200 yard freestyle and I was the water he was treading. Okay, I guess I have to admit that he wasn't kicking me all that hard because he was just being silly. He was playing. But at some point he got me at just the right trajectory to hurt me.

Then I turned into a girl.

I started whining (yes, whining, I am so ashamed), "Stop kicking me!" and I looked up just in time to see Trey giggle. Giggle.

So I whined again, "Stop laughing! He's hurting me and you're laughing!" Which was clearly code for "I am the queen around this joint, and he should be crying with repentance and begging for my forgiveness by now. Why aren't you defending me against this little demon." To make sure I was communicating effectively, I also threw a foam bowling pin (that I had previously confiscated from one of the boys) at him. It was as if my arm removed itself from my body and became a slave only to my little girl hurt feelings.

Trey's giggle was immediately replaced with a shocked look that said, "What on earth just happened here and was that a bowling pin you just threw."

At which time Keaton started kicking me in the head.

Sensing impending disaster, Trey called the boys over and began giving them a stern talking to about how we don't kick Mommy. Of course, they thought this was all very entertaining and laughed the entire time.

Now I can't prove this, but I'm pretty sure Trey was communicating something else to them in a secret boy language that I don't know, something to the effect of "did you see the way you almost made that little girl cry!" And I'm pretty sure they were all laughing at me on the inside.

And before I knew it, I was psychotic. The voice that roared from inside of me was not of this earth, and I know not from whence it came. It was the yelling/crying/violent growling of a lunatic.

“YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO TOUCH ME AGAIN BECAUSE YOU THINK IT’S SO FUNNY TO HURT ME. NEVER AGAIN! DON’T EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN! EVER! BECAUSE YOU HURT ME!”

Tucker, who hates to get in trouble, went white. His lip quivered, and he ran from the room. Keaton, who really couldn’t care less about being in trouble, yelled back, “THEN WE’RE LEAVING!” And I’m pretty sure he tried to spit in my general direction as he stomped out after his brother. (Keaton is a very, well, "passionate" child.)

We went from a lovely family moment to demon possession and spitting in a matter of seconds.

I took a breath and realized that I had behaved badly. Tucker thought he was playing with me, and I blew fire in his face. He needed to know that he couldn’t play like that, but I may have taken it a little to the extreme.

So I came into the living room where Tucker was sitting quietly, no doubt thinking of life with a mother he was never allowed to hug or kiss again. (An unaffected Keaton was playing with his trucks in the floor.) I sat down next to Tucker and said very calmly, “When you were kicking me in the head you were hurting me. I know that you didn’t mean to, and I know that I behaved inappropriately when I yelled at you like I did. I was ugly and I’m sorry.”

I must have been forgiven because he gave me a smile and kiss. Keaton nonchalantly called out over his shoulder, “Say sorry to Mommy, Tuck.” And he did.

And such is my wonderful life. I am surrounded by boys. I got kicked in the head, laughed at, and spat upon(ish). And I apologized.