The house is unbalanced...not just with the groaning weight of the piles of dust and laundry...but sexually. The male to female ratio is 7:3 and anyone who understands basic maths will agree that that won't factor down, there is no smaller common denominator to make that a nice, even ratio...it's odd. The children kind of balance; 4 boys, 2 girls, add the parents; 5:3 and it's odd. Now put the cats in (by cats I mean the ones that are really ours, not the interlopers who eat all the food and meow at our back door) and it gets even more unbalanced with 7 males to the meagre 3 females.
I have female friends who physically shudder when they realise the sheer scale of testosterone which abounds in our house (I just spellchecked testosterone and it came up with an alternative of 'dessertspoon' seems quite a symbolic substitute...) and there are some definite downsides to so many males. I am a realist, no delusional flights of fantasy for me, no wailing of, 'my son, my son,' no, that's not my style.
For a start they do smell, it is necessary to regularly febreeze the elder 2 sons particularly. Then there's the constant standing on your feet...why do they do this? 'Ah, we are genetically predispositions to read maps, yet have no concept of where our own feet are?'
Feet feature greatly in the downside to boys, they have awful toenails and no concept of how to trim and groom these weapons without constant instruction...when they do remember to trim the talons, it's either by the 'picking and dropping' method or the 'foot in mouth like a chimp' method. Either way, do I really want to find chewed and picked crescents of yellowed toenails around the house?
There's also athletes foot, the plight of Number 1 (the eldest and a swimmer), that constant scrapping sound as the foot is dragged across any slightly textured surface can be quite irritating, not to mention the talc puffed over every surface in the bathroom. Then there is the scale of the things - boys feet are so damned big, the elder two are both in double figure now and I find them dumped everywhere (shoes not feet obviously)...when I say 'find' that is in fact a synonym for 'trip over'. They have shoe racks and shoe drawers, yet I managed to fall over a colossal size 11 brothel creeper with a cartoon of a half-naked lady on the front every time I walk in a room.
Hygiene in general becomes a big issue with so many males, either the smell of them unwashed or the sneezing fits which accompany the vast quantities of deodorant and aftershaves used. Simple tasks, such as teeth brushing and washing hands after toilet visits take years and years of rigorous training. The toilet seat issue is widely discussed, but I personally find the forgetting to lift the seat up at all far more disconcerting than the fact they never remember to put the seat back down. After a few years with boys I learned to view a 'down' seat with suspicion and always wipe the seat over before sitting...and then there's the not pointing the urine stream into the bowl so it squirts all down the back and front of the toilet...infuriating. Boys generally forget to flush toilets too - why? Who knows?
Food bills are immense, they eat everything as they get older - including supplies for their younger siblings packed lunches - we've had lots and lots of very early morning shop dashes because the eldest got hungry and had a midnight snack -'oh, sorry, was the ham sandwich, tube of fromaige frais and kit kat for his packed lunch...didn't realise, I thought you'd made it for me in case I got peckish, sorry!' Even buying in a pile of extra snacks doesn't help, they just eat even more...
They snore en mass, in a co-ordinated, syncopated cacophony of snorts and splutters. And when they speak, they are either so loud that it is painful to hear them talk, like being blasted by a fog-horn, or they tell you nothing and you find out from a neighbour whose sister-in-law reads the local papers that they featured as a centre piece on gifted and wonderful youth a week last Monday.
There are lots of other, equally disconcerting elements to parenting boys that I won't even go into, it may cause offense to the delicately minded.
However, they do have qualities that makes life almost idyllic in comparison with mothering girls. For a start they will largely admit when they are wrong or have done something that you may not approve of. Girls simply stare you in the eye and lie, 'No, I've not eaten the chocolate bar that Dad bought you. You're just having a go at me, you've probably eaten it yourself and forgotten, why would you think it's me anyway?' as they slam the door and flounce up the stairs with chocolate around their mouth and the wrapper sticking out of their back pocket.
Girls are just so demanding.
They want your attention NOW when you are busy, but want nothing to do with you when you are free. And ohhh, the sulks and flounces and strops! My Gran used to say girls, 'go on the turn' I now understand what she means. My daughter and I can be having a lovely day, chatting, cuddling, laughing even (it happens on occasion) when suddenly...bam...the mouth will clam, the chin will wrinkle and the mood will descend. I have attempted to analyse triggers, as I do with the boys, but they don't have predictable patterns or causes. I am beginning to suspect they are simply caused by my very existence.
Child Number 5, a boy, can be temperamental, but his strops are triggered by the word, 'no', not unusual for a 6 years old. He'll pull a face, stamp a foot, may even shout, but after a couple of minutes, he accepts the matter and is back to normal - we'll have a hug and that's the end of it. But, Number 3, the eldest girl? No way! She collects and harvests all injustices with the passion gardeners display towards their prized marrows. Conversing with her resembles an interrogation by the Tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, only it is a little more stressful.
It is essential to pause and consider all answers to her questions, 'should I wear the blue or black cardigan?' may seem an innocent query, it is however, a trick question, designed to cause the unsuspecting parent emotional turmoil and bundles of grief, because what she is really checking is whether you have noticed which jeans she is wearing today. Bizarre? Not at all, because anyone who really was interested would have noticed that she was wearing the grey jeans and the blue cardigan just would not match! Further evidence that she is ignored, injured and misunderstood.
And now we have another emotional whirlwind developing, Number 6 has just turned two and is already contrary and oh, I can see the path stretching out before me...the denials that she has anything to do with the crayon on the wall, and the insistence that the t-shirt was bought with scissor snips along the edge. The refusal to admit that the smear of lipstick on her forehead means she was the one to turn the prized-best-occasion Chanel en rouge into a pile of mush or that the huge pile of used tissues shoved under the pillow are hers or that a pocket full of penguin wrappers is evidence that she actually ate them.
On retrospect, I pity those poor males a ratio of only 7 for the vast quantity of we 3 is nowhere near enough to balance that irrational sea of oestrogen!
Addendum:
Number 3 has just read this and feels the following corrections are needed:
1. The blue cardigan does go with the grey jeans...she NEVER wears it with the black jeans however.
2. She doesn't like penguins - other chocolate covered biscuit centred items in wrappers intended for lunchboxes maybe...but NEVER penguins. 'They taste funny!'
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