Life Among the Boys

I am the lone female in this house. Even the dog is male, or used to be anyway. Life for me is an obnoxious pattern of wrestling, cars, legos, and noises that the general population considers quite rude. Sometimes I feel a bit like an ambassador in a foreign country. Here I am, just plugging away at introducing them to my own culture where people don't eat dirt and do wear pants, and there they are, just plotting attacks on my embassy with bouncy balls.

I grew up in a very tame, very feminine household. My dad was the only male in the house (though he did have the dog on his side), and he isn't what one would categorize as overly guy-ish. He's an "intellectual", as in he doesn't play or watch sports, doesn't feel a need to shoot things (in real life or in a video game) and much prefers reading books to something "manly" like hanging drywall. He was actually pretty well suited for life in a house of women, having grown up as the only surviving son with four sisters. Dad's not overly emotional, doesn't take things personally and does not become nonplussed in a flurry of feminine teenage outbursts.

I don't know if I'm as well suited for an all male house, which surprises me. Growing up, I wasn't overly feminine. I liked being a tomboy when I was a kid, getting dirty and playing cops and robbers with my friends, who were mostly boys. And as a teenager, I liked being with my girl friends, but hated drama and emotion. I abhorred crying, cat fights and gossip.

Then I grew up, got married and started having babies. And WHAM. Motherhood has a way of turning the hardest rock into squishy sand. Now I often finding myself getting teary over the stupidest things, like when my kids do something adorable like ask to brush their teeth. And I'm developing empathy. Where on earth did that come from? And I LIKE being girly now. I LIKE shopping and makeup and doing my hair. I even like high heels.

Probably, this is in part due to the fact that I am the lone female on this planet. I am the representation my boys see of femininity, and for some reason that makes me want to boost the girly-ness factor. As if my wearing eye liner somehow keeps my head slightly above the soaring testosterone levels. I feel the need to be singular, separate. To use a napkin and be lady like. By doing these things, I maintain my standing as a dignified ambassador to the uncivilized members of this society.

I also find myself calling out "be careful" quite often. It is my sincere belief that by hollering these words in the midst of wrestle-mania, that they somehow penetrate the thick skulls of the natives and I save myself a trip to the emergency room. It's not a perfect system, but sometimes it works.