The hard thing about my boys is that they are, so, well, so, um so, I guess, so boy-ish. And I am just not quite used to boyish. I didn't have any brothers. Nine out of my ten cousins were girls. I've never been married. Basically, I just don't quite get the boy thing (or at least that is what I think I don't get, but maybe it's something entirely different and I'm just missing it).Every once in awhile, the whole boy-ish thing gets to me. Take yesterday, for instance. It was my birthday. My family and book club had celebrated with me the week before, but I wanted to do something with the boys- a movie, or dinner, just something to acknowledge that the day was supposed to be a little bit special.
My boys, however, did not feel that need. Son #2 invited a friend over to spend the night on Saturday. I didn't know about it until he showed up on the doorstep. And then we had the girl on the couch incident. And then the friend stayed and stayed and stayed. And then I had to get my resume together for the district job fair. And then pretty soon it was almost six and was getting too late for a movie. And the boys were being ugly and yucky and not treating me like the birthday queen. Which I was supposed to be. And I got mad. And left by myself.
When I came back, Son #1 had gotten three wine glasses out of the cupboard. He filled them half way full with the cheap raspberry drink I keep in the fridge for the endless hordes of teenagers that pass through my kitchen, then took fruit- raspberries, grapes, bananas, and lemons from the fridge. He cut them up and stuck them on the sides of the glass. He set them out on a crocheted dishcloth. He found a card, ok, it was actually a leftover Valentine's card that I never sent, and crossed out Valentine's and put Birthday in. He and his brother signed the card. And then we had a little toast. And that was enough. I was the birthday queen again.
I just needed a little sweetness…
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