It’s a Boy Thing

After a week with my three boys at the beach, it dawned on me yet another reason why boys and girls are different. Boys enjoy driving each other crazy for sport.

It is a constant effort to see how far they can go before the other goes bat-shit crazy. I do not remember that in a house of three girls.

They poke each other. Jump out from behind corners to scare each other. Take every opportunity to remind each other of a favorite football team’s meltdown in the Super Bowl.

They have old lady nicknames for each other like Carol and Sally and then use them until their brother can’t take it anymore.

They remind each other of the embarrassing things they did yesterday or last year or six years ago. “Remember when you pooped at the pool? “Well, you pooped on the beach!”

Poke. Shove. Poke. “Hey, Carol, remember when…”

In the end, after all three laugh until their sides ache, someone always storms off. “They are sooo mean.”

But fifteen minutes later, they are back together, back at it, back to smiles and that little-boy twinkle in their eyes. All for one and one for all.

I pointed this observance out to them. They all grinned, “That’s why boys are more fun.”

What Are Little Boys Made Of?

What are little boys made of?

Snips and snails

And puppy-dogs’ tails

That’s what little boys are made of.

But what happens to them when they play golf?!

I recently took up golf and started playing an occasional nine holes with my family. I love being outside with them, playing, enjoying the sunshine. My goal is to hit the ball when I swing, sometimes hit it 100 yards and straight, but mostly just spend a few hours with my boys.

But golf does something to them.

When they are playing well, they are like puppy dogs’ tails. Wagging. Giddy. Confident. Fun.

That’s what little boys are made of.

But when they are playing poorly, which in our family games, merely means I have a slim chance of closing in, they turn into slugs and snails and sops who wail…

…and throw their clubs, and cry and beat themselves up.

No other sport or activity has this strange power over them. And I just want to play!

So apparently, after 13 years as a mother of boys, I must still learn…

… what are little boys made of… when they play golf?