So much to say about this gentle gender. I'm raising two teenage daughters and for the most part, they are the light of my life. Opposites in every way, they are in the 10th and 9th grade and growing up. Or not. Growing down? Stagnant? Filling out by the bust and booty but not in the brain? Moodier than a woman in the cruel throes of menopause. So smart sometimes in their insight to the human condition that I'm amazed, and other times, dumber than a pile of dirt. And just as unsightly. How can a teenage girl's very countenance change from one of bright, yellow sunshine to odorous, green dung in less than a second?
All I can say, is thank heaven for little boys. And men. If it weren't for my husband, Roberto, and my grandson, Mr. Wapkaplet, I'd lose my mind. As I type this, Roberto is behind me, playing COD on the XBox. Completely at ease with his geek factor, he's got more gadgets to this machine than I knew existed. I can't hear anything from the TV because of the full headphones he wears but at any given moment, he explodes with random comments that mean nothing to me but everything to his twelve-year old Internet comrades..."I'm in Grandma's house" or "They're in the conference room, dude!" and then there's "Watch the cave!" or "There's still one ON THE BALCONY!", and my all time personal favorite, "WHAT? NO WAY! I JUST UNLOADED A FULL CLIP ON HIS ASS! NO WAY HE'S NOT DEAD!"
Gotta love him. Simple creature that he is. He works, he eats, he sleeps, he poops, he plays. Just like my grandson, minus the work. And at the end of the day, he smiles at me, hugs me and tells me he loves me. Just like my grandson, minus the telling me he loves me. But only because he can't talk. I'm sure though, that when he says, "gleekumblakeoopuuu", that's exactly what he means. Because he's cool like that.
Ten minutes with the guys is like a band-aid coated with neosporin for my wounded, teenage girl inflicted, tortured soul.