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Boys Are Gross

I was sure of it at 5. And I have to say that the last 30 years have only solidified this believe. Honestly, the last five years have provided all the evidence I need to assert with authority that boys are totally disgusting. Since becoming a mother, I’ve cleaned up projectile vomit and projectile poop. I’ve admonished children to use a tissue rather than their sleeve, or worse — my dining room wall. I’ve scraped unidentified articles out of mouths determined to consume them. I’ve washed hands, scrubbed faces and blown noses more times than I can count. And I enter a public restroom like a general entering a war zone.

Don’t touch that!

Don’t sit there!

Wash your hands!

Use soap!

All in a fruitless effort to avoid germs and the subsequent sickness they bring.

It was hard enough when they were toddlers, but now we’ve entered a new era. This one includes squirming lizards, wiggly worms, and absolutely positively any wildlife — either living or *gulp* long dead. ¬†For instance, tonight I herded everyone downstairs to brush their teeth before bed. I was about to leave them to it, and begin collecting pajamas, but Tom needed help with getting the toothpaste onto his brush. I quickly changed course, and began applying Thomas the Train toothpaste to his green Snoopy toothbrush when a strange object caught my eye. Nestled between the toothbrush holder and the hot water tap was an odd looking toy. Sort of brownish and wrinkly, with a strange sort of smile. I looked closer and realized it wasn’t so much a smile as a grimace. How odd, I thought to myself. It almost looked like…

“Oh my Lord! Is that thing REAL!” I shrieked. Four innocent sets of eyes looked back at me. Well.. there was a fifth set, but it wasn’t so much looking as it was staring. Rigor will do that to a frog.

“What…? Where did…? Oh, what is WRONG with you people?!?” I blathered.

“Tom did it.” Jack said matter of factly.

By that time, Jason had sprinted downstairs to see what all the screaming was about. With a sigh, and what I felt was a completely unnecessary eye roll, he removed the offending creature, muttering under his breath, “It’s just a little frog.”

Just a little frog!! Just a little dried up, dead as a doornail frog. Snuggled up right beside the toothbrushes, no less!

This is the last straw. I give up. They can eat dirt, touch a public toilet and poke dead stuff with sticks to a fare thee well. I don’t care anymore. Now, please excuse me. I have to go wash my hands again and disinfect my toothbrush — in case frog germs can spread upstairs and around corners. Just because I live with a pack animals doesn’t mean I have to become one.

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Posted in Family & Relationships, Kids.


2 Responses

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  1. Katie Poole says

    I gave up a long time ago, Jodi. I think God puts medicinal qualities in dirt and such b/c He knows little boys simply can’t resist.

  2. amy says

    I don’t mind snakes and frogs and so on, but poop drives me round the bend. And then there was the day I found a fully engorged tick in the bottom of the washing machine. Clearly, it fell off a boy and got tangled in with the dirty clothes. My 5yo said HE DIDN’T MIND if it was on him, because he didn’t feel anything, so who cares if a tick feeds on you for three days? It’s better than Mama plucking it out with the tweezers before it gets its full.

    I was appalled. My child has no problem hosting a parasite. Blech.



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