Ever since Mr. G came along (don't you love that--"came along"--as though his birth was some random, passive event, like getting a card in the mail), I've heard constant remarks on being the mom of three boys.
"Wow, three boys."
"THREE boys. That must be something."
"Three boys--how do you do it?"
"Well, they say boys start harder but end easier than girls."
"It must be LOUD at your house."
"You must have some grocery bill."
And the classic, "Don't you want a daughter? You must be so lonely as the only girl."
Generally these remarks are accompanied by pitying or sympathetic expressions. Sometimes people even wince when they figure out all three of these knuckleheads belong to me. I always thought Mr. D got the same reaction from people, but no, for him it's more of a fist-bump, "you stud" kind of moment when people hear he has three sons.
When the boys were younger it was loud and messy, active and crazy. Zombies, yetis, sword/laser fights, Batman capes, muddy floors, grass-stained knees, balls and Nerf bullets flying. My furniture is distressed thanks to them and the toilet seat is always--well--splattered somehow. I have to beg and bribe my sons to bathe, wear a collared shirt to church and use a napkin instead of their clothes. But they are creative and funny, healthy and curious. Mothering three little boys was mostly pleasant because if you can tolerate the chaos and noise and projectiles aimed at your head, it'll make you laugh and stay in shape. I didn't have to fix hair, shop much, dry many tears or endure that high-pitched noise that emanates from many small girls.
But things are changing around here ...
They are eating MORE. Like, a LOT more. Their milk and meat and bread consumption has nearly doubled. A package of bacon for breakfast? Inadequate. One sandwich at lunch? Surely you jest.
Their feet are growing. I'm at the shoe store almost as often as I'm at the grocery store. And they all need specific shoes--for basketball, wrestling, soccer and baseball in addition to their regular shoes. Every time I turn around one of them is telling me their feet are pinched, can we get new shoes.
Two of them are looking me in the eye without standing on a chair or step to do it.
They need deodorant and frequent showers because getting sweaty isn't just some damp aroma anymore. This has implications on my laundry schedule and my shopping list.
One got braces today.
None of them plan to stay home with me during deer hunting.
The bin of hand-me-downs has more limited supply as they're all wearing close to the same size without anything in-between.
Things are not the same around here lately.