There is too much testosterone in our house. A bevy of boisterous boys. Oh okay, only three. I'm not that mad. I do not wish for a soccer team. Although I'm pretty sure we could have produced one if we'd kept on going. Always full of boundless energy. Well, except when they are lazing in front of the TV.
Master 10 sits in his favourite recliner directly in front of the television and frequently hollers for a cup of tea. Yes, he drinks tea. At least he does say please. Masters 8 and 3 will loll on the lounge and I will have a moments reprieve while they are engrossed in the TV, before they inevitably start arguing over Lego or Master 8's current obsession 'Trashies'. Don't ask.
Living in a family where I am the only female naturally means I rarely ever have free reign over the remote control. I will always be the last person to ever lay my hands on it. Strangely, however, I am always the first person who is queried when it goes missing.
"Have you seen the remote?" Micky Blue Eyes will bark, eyes darting around the room.
"No, " I reply, exasperated "When would I ever have it? You just have to look for it." So he does.
Now, I'm not sure if this is the general male way of looking for things or only the males at our house, but his version involves standing in the middle of the room looking around vacantly, as if he expects the thing to come flying out to him by some sort of supernatural force of ESP or something, before announcing "I can't see it."
Of course you can't dear, you haven't moved anything, I think frustratedly. Then his eyes will wander over to the couch, and, if I happen to be sitting there, rest suspiciously on me, until he says "Are you sitting on it?"
Well, call me stupid, but somehow, I imagine that if I had something remote control sized wedged underneath my (admittedly rather large) backside, I might reasonably be expected to notice it was there.
I sigh and get up reluctantly. Minutes later it is retrieved, usually lodged down the side or back of Master 10's recliner. Or his Throne, as it also known.
Being a mother of three boys, there are many things that I am completely over. Searching for the remote is one just one of them. There are many others. Like these:
As promised, here is my list of all the 'boy' things I am over. For the purpose of this blog, I may be generalising a little. I'm sure there are lots of girls who like some of these things too. If not, then I'm assuming it would just be something else like Barbies, or beads or Bratz dolls or whatever it is girls like these days (frankly, I have no idea) that parents of girls would be over. I, however, in no particular order, am completely over the following:
Sorry J.K. Rowling, I know you are the biggest selling author of all time (at least I think so, I'm too lazy to actually check for sure) so, while completely in awe of you, I will not be reading your books. Ever. Yes, I know she's not losing any sleep over this, considering the gazillion or so of those things she's sold, but still, I must protest somehow.
I love reading. It's just that after being forced to watch endless TV screenings of the films (despite having the full DVD set, as well) I am truly over it.
There must be 700 gazillion Lego sets in existence, each containing 700 gazillion pieces. These sets are hideously expensive. Then, once you have forked over a fortune for them, you take them home, they require hours of patience to painstakingly put them together.
Following which, they will be played with for approximately ten minutes, before being smashed and all the pieces never found again. Plus, every parent of boys (and some Lego-minded girls) knows the pain of stepping on a piece of Lego. OUCH!
SOCCER and RUGBY LEAGUE:
My father and husband are are totally soccer obsessed. Now my boys are fast becoming so too, especially Master 10. In the tradition of the old saying "if you can't beat em, join em" I have tried to drum up an interest . This worked well for my mother, who now sits up at ridiculous hours with my father, watching Man United play.
Not so well for me, however. My eyes glaze over after only ten seconds. By 20 seconds I am considering stabbing my own eyes repeatedly with pins, just to make it more interesting. How do people get themselves so worked up over this that they actually sob if their team loses the Grand Final?
Additionally, ever since my brief crush at age 12, on Wayne Pearce evaporated, even the promise of very fit men, in very tight shorts can't seem to entice me.
And all things science fiction. May the force be with you. The force of my foot, booting you to oblivion. Incidentally, while I am on this subject, some folks develop life-long fascinations with Star Wars, Star Trek etc and seem to think that this makes them dark, mysterious and intensely interesting individuals. It does not. This fascination is just as deeply disturbing and mind-numbingly boring to somebody else as my Carpenters obsession is to you. Just sayin'.
Spiderman, Batman, Iron Man etc. How many more movies can conceivably be churned out with these characters?
A lot it seems. There are new Spiderman and Batman films hitting the screens this year. Which means my boys will want to see them. As well as wanting every toy manufactured in conjunction with them too.
On the one hand, I am happy to let them watch something that will keep them riveted for an hour or two, so that I can do something else. On the other hand, it provokes emulating behaviours. Especially in Master 3, who will revert to wanting to dress like Spiderman every time we leave the house, a habit we've only just nipped in the bud.
WWE WRESTLING: Fortunately, they seem to have lost interest in this one presently. Thankfully, as no one should ever have to endure watching this particular form of torture.
However, as you all know by now, I have my own brand of torture as retribution. My Carpenters obsession. And I will be turning it up LOUD.
Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.