Dirt, Mud and the all American boy.

I've decided that there is some genetic factor that draws the male gender (of all ages) to big powerful vehicles, loud booms as in guns/fireworks and mud. Yes I said mud. Why else would otherwise intelligent males take their big and powerful trucks up through the muck of the underbrush to shoot off guns?

And this gene kicks in early, Waaaaaaaay early.

Before having my own sons, I seriously thought that all this was a learned behavior taught from father to son. A sort of testosterone right of passage just a step below early tribal hunters teaching their boys to drag home dinner.

It's not taught, it's already there. I've learned that a 10 month old baby boy can make a gun out of anything. We're talking a kid that has access to more barbies then any manly man can imagine. Not just any barbies but pink and purple mermaid barbies with sparkly hair. When you have older sisters, you have access to these sort of pink girl objects and yes, even these can be made into guns.

Lets not forget legos, blocks and cars can all be made into guns. Outside of the house, sticks, rocks and even a real fierce piece of grass can be made into a gun. Oh yeah baby, watch out.

Now my husband does shoot em up computer games. He use to do the real bloody DOOM game with our oldest daughter on his lap. Oh she loved it, until she discovered pink barbies. Our second daughter decided princess Disney crap was far more interesting then the shoot em up games, which are now thankfully less bloody but still have their fair share of explosions and booms. The boys fight over who will sit in daddy's lap. This isn't quite the problem it use to be since the boys are able to restrain pounding on daddy's keyboard and sending daddy's trooper straight into enemy territory.

And the mud, oh the mud. In all fairness I believe mud to be a very natural kid thing and not just a boy thing but I believe boys relish mud in a way few girls can really understand. I think even if we don't mind getting dirty, us girls fail to understand the magic a good ol fashion mud hole contains.

Well my 30 month old twins understand. It's like a magnet for them, calling, beckoning from the back yard. It's physically impossible to just dip their toes in. Oh no, It's up to their hips, sitting right in the middle, fingers quishing through the center, like a dance. Small splatters of mud flying towards each other as the twins giggle with delight just feeling the texture of the muck.

Now why would I have such a mud pit in the backyard?

I don't believe anyone familiar with my children would be shocked the names Kate and Ean associated with the making of the mud pit.

The first creation of the mud pit led to such a mess inside my house. A half inch of dirt tracked across both my kitchen into the front room and down the stairs into the family room. Huge thick muddy hand prints down the hallways and the clothes, oh my the clothes. A huge and I mean HUGE load of clothes that won't even give a hint of what color they should be. The bathroom was destroyed, and this was only from the first venture into the mud pit.

The pit has been recreated several times.

The worst part is that the twins feel like they're being killed if I try to keep them inside while the pit is drying out. There are more sticks to make guns with outside. *eye roll*

It's easy to understand why staying inside would seem like some weird sort of torture.

If the twins get outside, I end up with two year old mud monsters, and although they are very happy mud monsters, it tends to stress me out. The kids of course can't seem to comprehend how much work it is to get the mud cleaned up but I know, oh boy do I know.

Some may find this hard to believe but my children lack some critical thinking skills, like if you throw mud at the house, not only will you get into trouble but then you have to clean up the mud and you'll be forced to abandoned the mud pit and not be allowed to play in it anymore. Oddly yelling at your mom that she doesn't allow you have any fun does not help your mud slinging case.

In all fairness, I should record that like my daughter (the guilty mudslinger) I was once guilty of throwing mud at our garage as a kid. My mom was about as pleased with me as I was with Kate. Kate doesn't need to know about that though. *smile*

Ean was in the pit during the mud throwing but he wasn't going to waste good mud by tossing it. He was to busy feeling it between his fingers. As I said, boys have an appreciation for fine mud that we girls just fail to understand.

Speaking of what calls out to a boy, the park we eat lunch at has an irrigation ditch that is full every Thursday. Yeah, I hate Thursdays.

We had a really cool first three weeks of summer, downright cold on the windy days. We've been biking to the park with me hauling my four year old and the twins in a bike seat and bike trailer. I don't exactly carry supplies so I was a bit unprepared the day Ean went swimming in the ditch and Greg fell in! I was worried they'd freeze all the way home.

Luckily I had a blanket I could put over the two boys in the trailer, they were naked, cause no point in wearing wet clothes. Up until this point Ean had ridden in the seat and the twins were in the trailer but that got switched around so Ean and Greg could snuggle under the blankets.

Oh Dave was so excited to ride in the seat. I call it the captains chair. *laugh*

SO the summer summery, boys love mud, bikes, mud, dirt, mud, guns and mud. It's been one wet and muddy summer so far. The boys have loved it but it hasn't helped me keep up with laundry.

This blog brought to you by Ean

juobobobobbbbbooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo


Who got onto my computer without permission.

*sigh*