I Live With Boys

For years, in check out lines at grocery stores, at church, movies, parks, football games, any place really where for safety, sanity or tradition, my family is in close proximity to each other, some humans feel the need to comment on the gender of my kids.  “All boys?” they usually ask,  I suppose to make sure one of them isn’t a girl with a really bad haircut.  I proudly respond that I am the mother of sons and their followup comment is usually about how I have it easier than if I had girls (really?) or whatever their own personal boy to girl child ratio is.  I actually think it is a compliment to our human condition that we notice and empathize with fellow families this way.  I’ve even found myself doing it, though I rarely say anything.  Still, when I see a woman walking around with three boys (there are kind of a lot of three boys families around) and now four, I smile and think, “That’s what we look like!”

I’ve never really thought much about what having “all boys” meant, other than my house didn’t contain any barbies or a bathroom drawer filled with colorful hair accessories.  However, last week we had our first ever family vacation with our new 5:1 guy to girl ratio and I admit there was more than one moment when I was acutely aware that one of these things is not like the others.

Now, believe me, I am a champion of girls and of the old-fashioned tune, “Anything you can do, I can do better,”  but I’ve noticed there is something inside boys that drive them to try things and challenge themselves physically in ways that I don’t remember feeling as a girl and certainly not as an out-of-shape-middle-aged woman.   Throughout the three days we vacationed in Taos, I spent each morning skiing with my boys.  Up until this year,  they’ve always been beginners.  It was me convincing the older two that they should try a run that I wanted to ski down and me giving them pointers about form and me waiting for them at the bottom of the hill.  One season of ski lessons has changed all that.  Henry joined us each morning and I am blessedly still above his ability level (picture him charging down the mountain at a breakneck speed while in a full snowplow.  Be still my very fast beating heart.)  but after we dropped him off at our ski in/ski out condo, Seth, Sam and I would hit the slopes for an hour or two.

We kept things pretty short and sweet on the first day because I was still nervous about leaving Daniel but I was more confident about being gone longer on day two.  Our very first run together that day was this black diamond called Walkyires Bowl.  The boys had skied it with their dad the day before and they wanted to show off, I think.

It was hard and steep but I managed.  Steepness isn’t my biggest ski weakness and we all made it down without incident, though I’m fairly sure their little quadricep muscles weren’t burning as badly as mine were.  Walkyries led straight to another black diamond called “Moe’s” which featured plenty of my skiing nemesis: moguls.  I was so frustrated by the end of that run not only because of the moguls, which I hate, but because Seth and Sam were waiting for me!  At the bottom!  Telling me I was doing just fine.   I told them no more moguls.

So, they led me to the terrain park.  I have a very healthy fear of gravity and don’t jump on skis.  Ever.  And I don’t do any of those rails or grinders or tires or....any of it either!  Instead of them waiting for me this time, it was me waiting on them as they wanted to take every jump they could possibly find.  Luckily, they are still beginners at jumping and stuck to simply getting speed and air.  No spins or flips attempted.  But, I have a suspicion that sentence needs a “yet” to be accurate.

After lunch, it was Dad’s turn with the boys and they’d come back in boasting about the double black run he took them on or how they hiked up to the ridge (because it’s above and beyond what the chairlift can take them to) in order to ski down what is known as “the steeps.”   All things I’d say have said, “no thanks,” to Jay had he asked me to try.  

Maybe it was the physicality of their skiing but I spent the rest of the week noticing how often I am not always a part of their boy club.  They don’t mean to be exclusive.  In fact, I think they would love it if I inserted myself into their antics more often.  But, I’m about as into sports as I care to be and, oddly enough, I don’t feel compelled to chase, be chased, wrestle, build or video game daily.  I know Jay doesn’t either, but he’s much better about it than I am.  And I don’t just mean that he’s better at trying or spending time with them.  He actually knows how to wrestle.  If I’m ever willing, it’s just boys jumping on me and me grabbing and pulling on them.  When Jay’s involved, headlocks and spins and other fancy-should-be-done-in-singlet moves are used.  They and I end up impressed.  Likewise with video games.  It’s as if there is something on the Y chromosome that allows for a quicker understanding about what buttons “a,b,c” or “x,y,z” do.

So, during our vacation, I noticed that the TV was always tuned to a sports program.  And I noticed that they eat and drink a lot.  And I couldn’t help but notice that they are very, very loud.  And sometimes stinky.

Never was it more apparent than on our drive home.  We stopped at a famous old steel bridge that crosses the Rio Grand gorge in New Mexico.  The bridge has been in several movies and the internet had other stories about ghosts that haunt it and its role in far too many suicides.  As we stood altogether in a small, jutted out, viewing area, Jay started snorting and sucking until he spit out a loogie over the bridge’s rail.  The boys watched in awe as it descended the over 650 feet down to river, marveling at how long it took.

They are boys.

They had to try.

Suddenly, they were all spitting and timing their spits and racing their spits and spitting from the other side of the bridge to see if the results were different.

I didn’t spit.

I can’t.

I’ve never been able to.

It just drools down my chin.

It was there that I made the comment, “Wow.  I am surrounded by boys.” and Jay replied, “Be glad they haven’t thought of trying to pee over the edge yet.”  Apparently, had we spent any more time there, that would have been the natural progression of things.

I do love my boys.  I love having boys.   I’ll allow the occasional whoopie cushion at the dinner table because there is nothing better than hearing Henry’s whole gut laugh when he hears that farting sound.  I love hearing them laugh.  I love having to remind them to brush their teeth because I’m pretty sure they haven’t in at least two days.  I love buying them new pants every season because they are either high waters or full of holes.  I love finding another pair of sneakers because the bottom of theirs are smooth and slick from all of their play.  I love their need to have a thumb war or a back scratch or a ghost hand in the middle of sacrament meeting.  I love their ties and their NCAA brackets and their third huge glass of milk.

I’m not one of them but I’m glad I get the chance to live with all of my incredible boys.


I only thought to take pictures on the very last day.  It was too hard to get any of us all on the mountain because I didn’t have anything warm for Daniel and didn’t want to expose him so I took a few of us in the rented condo on the last day to prove we went on vacation:)

Seth and Sam in their room they shared with Henry (each book took a turn sleeping on the floor at night).  They look all quiet and calm but I’m pretty sure I had already forced them to settle down as to not annoy our downstairs neighbors anymore than I’m sure we already had.

Our room was exactly the same on the other side of the living ro}M only the twin beds were pushed together to make a King size bed.

View from the full kitchen of the living area.

Jay relaxing with a sleeping Daniel.

Later that same day, Jay relaxing with a sleeping Daniel:)

Only ski picture taken - me on the chairlift with Seth and Sam.

All five of my boys on the infamous bridge.  Before the spitting.

Me, myself and I.  The girl.  Not spitting.