Boy, It Ain't Easy

When I tell people I'm the mother of four boys, one of two things happens: they either look at me in horror through widened eyes and then slowly shake their heads as if my strictly-male-producing uterus has made me insane, or they say this:

At least they're not girls.

I've pondered it so often, this girls vs. boys issue. Partly because I can't imagine how anyone can call what I go through with my boys "easy." It's irritating, actually. Like - wow, you have four kids but at least you got the "easy" kind. Because four boys pretty much means I can sit on my ever-widening keester and shovel bonbons into my mouth, right? They practically raise themselves, right?! Ha!

I don't know if the whole "boys are easier than girls" thing is referring to the teen years or what, because I have yet to experience a houseful of teenage boys. But the thing I hear most is, "Girls are just so dramatic."

You want dramatic? All my boys can be dramatic in their own right, but let me introduce you to my five-year-old, Cameron, who brings his own special brand of drama to the table. This is a kid who once tripped over his own two feet, then tripped again trying to get up, then gave up completely, flopped onto the floor, and wailed at the top of his (loud, loud) lungs, "This world is just too dangerous for someone like meeeee!"

As I type this, my boys are in the midst of an ongoing feud over ... wait for it ... a feather. A feather that Cameron picked up like a week ago that, until this morning, had been lying dusty and forgotten underneath the bed. Then Colin found it and was like, "Hey! I found a feather!" and all hell broke loose. For the past half-hour solid, I've had to listen to Cameron sobbing and moaning nearly-unintelligibly about how Colin has his featheeeerrrrrr and he's had it since he was a babyyyyyy (he hasn't) and it's his favorite memoryyyyyyy (it isn't) and Colin won't give it baaaaaaack (well, that part was true) and it's not faaaaaaaaiiiiiirrrrrr. All this is punctuated by rolling on the floor in various directions.

To top it off? Colin just gave back the feather. But licked it first. Which is obviously reason enough to lend a new vigor to the existing meltdown.

Boys. They're not dramatic at all. *insert eye roll here*

I don't think it's so much about one gender being easier than the other. I think it all depends on the kinds of kids you have. Some kids in general are just easier than others: compliant, obedient, laid-back (in my house, that's my three-year-old, Coby). And some kids do more to try your patience (in my house, that's ... the rest of them). Girls, boys - I'm thinking gender doesn't matter as much as general personality.

Case in point: my friend Hannah, the author of the fabulously hilarious sKIDmarks, wrote this post the other day. It's about the recent survey saying three kids is the most stressful number (which is a whole other can of worms but I'll just say in the politest way possible that I'm in disagreement with that assessment and leave it at that). But what struck me most was the end photo of a wayward turd on the floor. Just like at my house!

... Except Hannah has all girls.

I rest my case.


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