Know what?

My oldest boy is six and a half.  Which makes me lame and three quarters.  

Mothering boys does not come naturally to me.  I grew up with sisters.  Boys were always a great mystery.  All that energy.  Natural boy energy seemed like naughtiness before I had boys of my own.  Now I know better.  A boy without energy enough to climb the walls, tear them down and then build them back up should have his thyroid levels checked. 

Many times a day I am reminding my boys to talk in a quieter voice, simmer down, walk nicely, slow down, talk politely etc.  And many times a day I am reminding myself that I am raising boys.  Boys need to talk in a loud voice, simmer up, walk crazy, kick into high gear and talk about bodily functions.  They must do all of these things or they will explode.  We do a daily dance of reigning in and channeling energy.  Finding appropriate outlets for natural tendencies.

Yesterday was a day full of correction and redirection.  It started to show on my boy's face.  The 'I can't do anything fun' look.  So I skunked him in a game of marbles.  Then he beat me twice...and practiced some smack talk.  So I body slammed him.  Then I beat him in a foot race.  He smiled at me like I wasn't quite as lame as he thought.  Then to seal the deal I asked him, "Know what?"

"What?"

"Chicken butt."  I said.  And his eyes got wide.

"Know why?" I asked.

"Why?"  he grinned.

"Cow pie." I said. His eyes got wider.

"Know where?"

"Where?" he asked on pins and needles.

"In  your underwear."  I whispered.  And his eyes fell onto the floor.

And I am now the coolest person he knows.  For now.