Life With Little Boys Instead Of Big Ones

Firstly wherever you go, they pick up stuff–broken lighters, rusty nails, carcasses of unidentifiable dead things… Also they kick stuff–plants, fire hydrants and living things until they become unidentifiably dead. “Create don’t destroy,” I say frequently. Yet they are simple and straightforward and can reliably, at least between the ages of eight and ten, keep themselves amused with large sticks, a tennis ball and the word “boobies.”

Boys relate on one simple level–there are no complex machinations at work. It’s just we’re playing, we’re fighting or we’re being idiots with our friends. That’s it. When I watch little girls at the kids’ school I am flabbergasted–there are hierarchies based on mysterious criteria, intrigues with ribbons around them and unnamed things that sit in the air. Some of these little girls will grow up into woman who you cannot trust at face value, who will hold grudges, and mentally condemn you into a box while pretending it’s in your best interests. I have learned to run from these women like a California wildfire; I have enough trouble with my one personality without managing all of theirs.

Today we went and saw some alpacas– squee! The following conversation took place in the car on the way-
Boy on play date- “What’s an alpaca what’s an alpaca what’s an alpaca what’s an alpaca….”
David- “Dude! I don’t know. Just go with it, okay?”
Samson- “It’s a humpless camel.”

Yes, humpless. Like your mom.

As in not humping anybody, as opposed to having no humps. (Lady humps only.)

“Cuter than a camel,” I add. And I am. I mean they they were. The boys chased them and hugged them and were chased by them and G-d bless the people whose farm it was because they hung out with the children, whom I can barely tolerate and they came out of me! And they didn’t even spit at or kick them, and neither did the animals. No one lost an eye to the large stick game, and no alpacas were injured in the making of this picture, and just now they stuffed themselves with pizza and are having the perfect day, playing a hiding and screaming game in our formerly clean house.

Meanwhile I’m so horny I could hump an alpaca, but instead I will content myself with going to a meditation group and if I come home late enough, at least I may be able to rub one out in silence. It’s the little things.

Clearly this is a relative

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