Swimming in the Testosterone Ocean

This morning, after Mass, I packed up my two daughters and shipped them off to their grandparents’ house for the next two weeks.  It’s just me and the boys now.  I think I may have made a mistake.  I should have gone, too.

I know that other women raise sons, lots of sons, without any daughters to break up the sea of blue.  I’m not those moms.  I like girls.  I like pink.  With whom shall I watch TV and make snarky comments about wardrobe issues?  This is beginning to look like a long two weeks.

My sons and their father have already begun speaking of movie marathons, fishing expeditions, and something or other about Star Wars.  I don’t speak this language, and to be truly honest, I’m not sure I want to become fluent.  They have their father; I have the girls. We enjoy each other, but when it comes time to relax….light saber duels just aren’t my cup of tea.  Tea parties…that’s my cup of tea, maybe because it actually has tea.

The house is already a bit different without their calming presence.  It’s louder somehow, despite having fewer people in it.  It will all be fine.  I know it will.  But if you see me out somewhere hiding in the bushes, wearing camo, and muttering about elaborate plans to take back the universe from the rebel scum….I’m either learning to enjoy playing with the boys, or I’m in desperate need of a makeover.  Bring shoes just in case.