Boys

I sometimes feel as though I live with a dozen boys, not just three, with one hardly off the starting blocks. There are spluttered raspberries and then, 'Is that my butticks?' followed by Max dissolving into giggles. Just one guess who taught him that. Then there's the issue of the loo seat, never down. I don't want to put you off ever visiting us or indeed inviting us to stay when we need a bed (or 3) but I can't pretend I'm not extremely tempted to install a urinal in the downstairs loo and put a picture of a stick man on the door. At least I'd never have to go in there. I haven't really been one for incense or potpourri but the time may fast be approaching. Before Oli was born I heard a comment made by a mother of 4 boys that alluded to the 'constant smell of fart.' I'm beginning to understand.
Sure, I wouldn't have it any other way. I love the rough-housing, the chaos, the fascination with wheels (for Max the trucks, for Dom the sportscars). I love trying to get the train-set to fit together using all the track. I love the need to be creative with sticks and I love dirt under the finger nails. I love extracting splinters (how satisfying?) and kissing grazed knees and I love the colour blue. Oh, and of course a rare treat are those early morning rugby matches when all the boys are up and I am 100% off duty. And now it seems another happy surprise is when I find the loo seat down.