Boys are gross . . .

Boys can be so gross sometimes.  I am being made ever more aware of this phenomenon on a daily basis through the actions of my son.  I shake my head in utter disbelief and wonder, often out loud, what in the world is he thinking.  Just a small peek into the inner workings of his brain.  That part that makes him do such, to my way of thinking, gross things.

I didn't teach him to spit on dead flies in the windowsill.  I never told him to go put mud all over his sister's ride'em car until all colour is completely indiscernible.  I don't know why he chooses to blow his nose when he doesn't have a tissue.  He brings a whole new level of ewww to my life.

I threw a rock once upon a time.  I was aiming at his knees, really and truly.  He ducked, not so bright a move on his part.  The rock got him square between the eyes.  I got into some serious trouble.  He was being gross.  He had picked up a filthy, dirty, wet, muddy sock and was swinging it around at us grade 5/6 girls.   I, ever the defender of the weak, took matters into my own hands (literally, in the form of that rock).  I can see my son in that boy.  I can see him thinking, gee, this could be interesting.  What would happen if I did . . . . ?  Fill in the blank.

Maybe it's a kid thing.  I did some pretty gross things too.  Usually without a lot of forethought.  Maybe he's me all over again, and maybe there is lesson in there somewhere.  Maybe as his mom I need to deal with these ewww moments differently than I have been.  Maybe I need to lighten up.  I don't know, but most of the time I'm either trying really hard not to retch or laugh, sometimes both.

Somehow or another, I will raise him into a young man worthy of a young woman.  And then someday, he can be a father to a son.  And I will tell all of his stories and he will shake his head in disbelief.

I love my son so much.  My girls too.  I read something once.  An expression.  Having children is like having your heart walk around outside your body.  It's true.  My heart, in my three children.  Living and beating outside myself.  I am so grateful for them.