Teenage boys are a species all their own, sort of like those fascinating new animals found in a crater in New Guinea--giant rats, fanged frogs, and the like. This doesn't sound very complimentary to my sons, at first glance, until you understand they would probably be flattered by the comparison, which proves my point.
So a month ago both Ben and Steven were fixing pallets and both boys stepped on nails within half an hour of each other--this takes skill, really it does--and had to be hauled in for tetanus shots. They quickly recovered.
Last night I sent Steven and Jenny out to pick up the pears that have fallen off the tree. Soon Jenny came running in, shrieking about Steven stepping on a nail.
I went out. Apparently a board had come off of the platform of the swing set Paul built a long time ago, and it was down in the sandbox, and Steven managed to step on two nails at once, so thoroughly that the board stuck to his bare foot and stayed there.
Horrified, I went to remove it. Steven had a fit. "Mom!! NO!!! You DO NOT TOUCH!"
Ooooo-kaaay, son, you plan to sit out here in the sandbox all night with a board stuck to your foot?
No, Mom. DON'T TOUCH.
I went and got Ben. Somehow the foot and board were separated and it was not pretty. I had Steven soak his foot in hot water and peroxide. He is surviving. I am grateful for that tetanus shot last month.
And he discovered the happy fact that if he limps enough, he doesn't have to go feed the chickens plus it's kind of a badge of heroism at school, which makes it almost worthwhile.
Then there's the whole matter of communication with teenage boys, like this evening when I was sitting in the office deleting old emails and Ben burst in:
Quote of the Day:
Ben: [shouting] Shampoo!
Me: Shampoo?
Ben: Yes! You know, shampoo.
Me: Hmmm. You need to shampoo your hair, you just dumped shampoo on the quilt, what??
Ben: [heavy sigh] Mom! Do you, within the bounds of your dresser, have in your possession a small bottle of shampoo that I could take along to youth camp?
Me: Yes, bottom left drawer.
We were houseparents for teenage boys for 9 years. Definitely a different species :-) Nailing yourself twice in one week takes a serious amount of talent. LOL But for guys, those are just more "war wounds" to impress the ladies. We called our son Kamikaze Kid when he was little. 'Nuf said :-)
ReplyDeleteI grew up with two brothers and one sister, and for some reason,a very nervous mother.
ReplyDeleteI remember the warm afternoon that all four of us youngsters were out playing Follow The Leader. My oldest brother was in the lead, and we were following closely behind him, all hopping on one foot. Then he added to this a warbling wail...and my sister right behind him followed suit. Then my younger brother joined the chorus, and just as I was about to add my voice to the din, I hopped onto a nail that was sticking up out of a board that lay on the ground, and I began a genuine wail that sounded much like the rest.
My mother had the happy job of hauling us all to the doctor, and explaining how all four of us had stepped on the same nail.
I can't remember ever playing that game again; in fact, I never taught it to my children, either.
~Back to my laundry lol
From a mother of 2 boys who have left their teenage years behind (but not all the unique characteristics of that time)....
ReplyDeleteHILARIOUS!!
(and a bit ouchy too)
Blessings, Aimee
I think my 9-year-old must be a teenager. He talks just like that conversation: Shampoo!
ReplyDeletePlus, when he took a wrong turn going over down the falls at Alsea Falls and went over a cliff instead, landing on his bottom in about 2 inches of water and rolling down the rest of the way, he only said, "I"m okay. I'm okay." And when we assured him he indeed could NOT be okay, he replied. "It's only pain."
to anonymous--it's a week later and my family and I are still chuckling over your follow-the-leader story. Classic.
ReplyDelete