A couple of days ago, I was having a conversation with a friend at church who is also the mother of boys. She wondered if I was nervous about having a girl this time around, since I have the boy thing all figured out already.
ALL FIGURED OUT???
Seriously, people, can a woman ever figure out exactly what is going on inside that walnut shell we refer to as the male brain, no matter what age he is?
Case in point:
As I was beginning to eat my lunch this afternoon, I was greeted by horrendous banging noises in the basement (where Noah and Wyatt had taken their lunches). It sounded like something large and metal had been dropped from a great distance. I rushed downstairs and, not seeing either child that was supposed to be in their playroom, yelled my curiosity as to where the heck they were and what the heck had made that noise.
Noah opened the door to our food storage room, a large walk-in closet with wooden shelves up to the ceiling on both sides.
“Where is Wyatt?” I all but yelled at him.
“Up there!” he answered.
“Up THERE!” He pointed towards the (currently empty) top shelf.
Do you see the metal pipe running along the top-right of the picture? Noah was pointing to the space to the left of it.
“HE’S IN THERE?”
“Wyatt, come out NOW!”
And he did. Slowly. Backwards. Almost not getting his footing and almost falling to the hard tile floor seven feet below him. He looked like a freaking coal miner, he was so covered in dust, since he made it in far enough that he was actually on the ceiling above the hallway.
As I yelled (yes, a lot of yelling occurred during this incident) at them both to get out and NEVER go in that room again unless I ask them to get food, Noah complained that his food was still up there (oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that Wyatt brought his lunch out of the ceiling with him).
Um, too freakin’ bad, kid.
I called to tell Sean, once again, that his life is so ridiculously much easier than mine and that he would have to figure out a way to get a peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of the ceiling when he came home (later, thankfully, I found that it was just on the top shelf, not actually in the ceiling).
He laughed at my disbelief over the situation. Couldn’t I see what a cool adventure that would seem like for a little boy?
Of course he would say that. After all, he’s a man. He’s got a walnut shell for a brain, too.
All I can say is, bring on the bossiness and hormonal mood swings. That, at least, I’ll understand.
ETA: I just got off of the phone with my brother-in-law who told me that he could totally relate. Apparently, he used to go climbing through the ceiling as a kid to sneek into another room and watch TV after his parents put him to bed. See people? Walnut shells.