I live with four men. Actually six. Jed thecatwhocamebackfromthedead, and Sampson (wonderdog) are boys as well. There is so much testosterone in this house, it’s a wonder that I still get a period. (though my beard is coming in nicely)
I tried to fight the tide of mounting evidence to outsiders, but any femininity is squashed like a bug. My home is decorated like a bachelor pad. (not for much longer, i hope) Things are just stacked around, all functional and stuff. It’s annoying.
My floors are covered with trucks, trains, planes, and action figures. Most of the children’s books are about trucks, trains, planes, and action figures. The movie cabinet has one side full of movies for boys. (except MY copy of “The Last Unicorn”, by gosh!!) The other side is westerns and action movies. (“Somewhere in Time” WAS in there at one point.)
Nowhere is Boydom more evident than the bathroom. Little boy potty puddles on the floor, and chest pubes that have fluttered about everywhere. The toilet collects them quite readily. I obsessively wipe around the back of the toilet seat and the rim. If I don’t it starts to look like a bear sat on the throne. (The same bear uses the soap.)
There are no frilly dresses, or cute leg warmers for me to launder. No barbies to kick out of my way. A mommy and me coordinated outfit luncheon thing will never happen. (hey, the odds are dwindling faster than a box of ding dongs around here) If I wanted to build a play set I have to look at plans for pirate ships, or western towns. There can be no castles, or kitchens.
Oh the life of a lady living with lads. It’s not what I expected, but it’s what I am doing. Right now. Thankfully, I was a HUGE tomboy as a kid. So I am hip to the action figure tip.