Boys Are Gross

Boys are gross.

Or is it just kids in general?

Yeah, maybe it’s just kids, period.

My boys used to have good aim when going potty- I don’t know what’s been happening lately. I am also finding giant globs of toothpaste all over their damp hand towel. The same kind of hand towel that Julian decided was enough to soak up an entire sink full of water. All that did not make it into the towel wound up all over the floor. And the other day, I found a booger stuck to one of my books. The one entitled- get this- “The Everything Guide to Raising Boys”.

*sigh*

Where is the chapter called “Tissues: the Complete Users’ Guide”?

Yesterday, Gabriel’s T-shirt sleeve was encrusted with yogurt because he had used it as a napkin (again), and this morning swung a belt around just enough to break the glass globe on the ceiling fan in his room. He sports a nice little scratch on his forehead from this. We later came home and immediately Maddie was yelling that the cat yarked on her bed (guess that is more of a pet thing. Still…). Later in her room I found she has shredded chunks of her cocoa butter lotion bar all over a fabric-covered Dr. Seuss book.

And nevermind the constant string of potty talk, which I believe my kids are getting just a bit old for. Surprisingly, though Gabriel tends to be the worst offender in this category, Maddie, who is eight and a girl, is often the instigator. It doesn’t take long for the two younger boys to join her in the hilarity.

I have found myself saying sternly to my children, “will you please act like you have parents who teach you manners?!” I feel like I have been working diligently and consistently day in, and day out, three meals a day- plus snacks- to teach them how to behave at the table, and it’s all just not sinking in. I thought they’d sort of get it by now. I am hoping if I stay patient (and consistent, and diligent), that it will pay off one day, and there will be well-mannered, conscientious, somewhat tidy people sharing my home with me. Of course, by the time this happens, they’ll be mostly grown, preparing for life on their own, and it just won’t be near as amusing if one of them wipes a booger on my book.

So I will keep trying, very consistently, ever-so-diligently, to do my absolute best with these little beings in my care, and all the while I will squirrel away these little tales for later. And not just so I can reminisce about their precious younger years.

But also for blackmail.