Boys to men.

Let me make this clear. I have nothing against men. I love the men in my life - my sons. Sometimes though, they puzzled me. They seem to live right on the borders of common sense, logic and deductive reasoning.

I have always wanted a son. I prayed and prayed for a baby boy when I found out I would be blessed with new life. Oh, I was so happy when they placed my precious little man in my arms. But it wasn't long after that beautiful moment that he peed all over me. And I soon found out that baby boys pee on their mothers often. As soon as you wise up and figure out how to shield yourself, they begin to master projectile vomiting! I was totally unprepared to see my infant child play out a scene from the Exorcist.

Thank goodness they outgrow it.

No, that's a lie. I just lied to you. They do not outgrow it, they perfected it!

It's not long before they are no longer content to pee on you, the parent. They often choose to pee anywhere and everywhere. When they graduate from diapers to big boy pants their target of choice is the toilet seat, the wall behind the toilet or the floor around it and sometimes the dog.

As my boys mature, they do not always seem to understand the necessity of clean clothing. If allowed, they will wear the same socks for a week. Pants and shirts that emit low odor vapors are still acceptable to them. They will wear jeans that show off their skivvies and consider the undergarment as simply a patch covering the hole from the inside.

Of course, they care about their appearance that's why they use deodorant beneath a less than fresh shirt. They trim their fingernails and toenails, leaving the clippings wherever they may fall, and they will wipe the crumbs from their shirt before leaving the table. Again, leaving them where they fall.

Another irritating thing is that my three boys leave their shoes anywhere and it is certain that if I am there, I will trip over them. My sister complained that when they finally decided a garment is no longer wearable they will deposit it on the floor just a few feet away from the hamper. I get an earful from my sister about how fast my boys pile up soiled clothes and how messy their room is. But what can I do? I am thousand of miles away and I could not bitch at them?

But hey, what would me and my sister talk about if the world where perfect? We need my boys to keep us entertained. I give birth to them, I love them, I tolerate them and I thank God for them. (Wait till mama comes home)