Ten Year Old Boys

Ten year old boys.

As the mother of ten year old twin boys, I feel as though I am qualified to say the following:

They are complete and utter idiots.

There. No, I do not feel better, because I love my sons and their report cards tell me that they are not fools.

Why, then, do they act as such?

The day begins with the struggle to awaken. Get out of the bed. Get onto the feet. Get into the bathroom. Getting one or both of these boys out of bed in the morning is like extracting an unwilling molar. Painful and possibly bloody.

One twin has his own bedroom due to his needs. These needs are as follows, although not in any specific order: 1) his need to read at night, and sometimes weekend mornings 2) his need for organization to all things 'his' 3) his need to sleep in whenever possibly and 4) his need for space. I understand all of these needs, because he inherited most of these traits from me. He is, too, a mean, nasty little cuss at times and we have found that if given the space to decompress, he is nicer. This twin emerges from slumber still catatonic and no one is to speak or look at him until he has gone to the bathroom and eaten his breakfast. We have ALL learned this lesson the hard way. Even after breakfast, we sometimes try to leave him alone or face certain death.

The other twin is a mess. Just a plain mess. This child drops his clothes, underpants, sock, glasses, whatever, whenever, wherever. He doesn't have a care in the world. His clothes are jammed into his drawers, wrinkled and (YES THEY ARE CLEAN) he has no care at all that he looks dishelved at best. This twin shares a room with 7 yr old brother. For two reasons, basically. One is that we only have a four bedroom home and in planning the home, did not include fourth and girl child. Secondly, other twin cannot deal with his own twin or 7 yr old brother.

So, this twin gets up every day at 6 am and goes to the bathroom. Every single solitary day of his life. The kid could wind his watch by his bowels. It's amazing and his father is incredibly jealous. Again, I have nothing to add on this because only a MAN would find it 'just wonderful' to be able to have a BM every day at the same time for ten years.

I digress.

Ten year old boys are lazy. Like, super duper, if it doesn't suit their needs, LAZY. I have heard also that this does not get better in near future years. These enigmas, these beings, are forged from my body but sometimes I feel totally detached from them. I see them, I see the the physical similarities they possess that are like that of my own, or my husband's, or from a family member. I remember rocking them, I remember feeding them. I documented their accomplishments, the first steps, first tooth. I love these children.

Then they open the mouth that God bestowed unto them and I want to put them in the Goodwill Box.

If the sheer stupidity of their questions continue throughout the teen years I may have to be medicated. I find myself YELLING the answers because literally, the 7 yr old knows the answer~why are you asking me this??!! I have never, ever understood the need for the rhetorical question. If one already knows the answer, why ask it? My ten year old sons are the new meaning of the term 'rhetorical questions'.

I have also noticed this year that ten year old boys have a pronounced hearing loss. To accompany their vision loss, I presume.

"Good morning, rise and shine~" is normally how I start their morning. After rising approx 20 minutes before the first battle of the day, I chug down my first cup of coffee and pour another. I walk up the stairs and enter twin bedroom. I bend down and kiss his head, under this pile of hair that he REFUSES to cut, and utter my morning sentence. He rolls over and I say "5 more minutes...OK?"


He then asks me what time it is since his vision is impaired and his clock is directly next to his bed.

I walk into bedroom two and find other twin somewhere in his bed. Sometimes sideways, sometimes completely turned around. His covers are all over his bed, floor. One pillow on floor, on top of his head. I rub his head and try to awaken him. He pops his head up, eyes closed..."how many more minutes?" to which I reply "5". I leave the bedroom, fully knowing that the 7 yr old is buried in my own bed, and I save him for last because he's my favorite in the morning. He still has the morning, stinky-sweet smell that hasn't left yet at age seven. His hair is everywhere on his father's red pillow, only this time I'm the one who won't part with the curls. I find him, with his little fists curled up under his chin and his eyelashes are so long. I take my time with him, I wake him. He stretches and pops up and away he goes. Fifteen minutes later, after the 7 yr old has already gotten dressed and eaten his cinammon toast, I am using my own vocal abilities to YELL the twins out of bed. I keep thinking that if I yell loud enough, the sheer force of my voice will MOVE them. I am wrong.

When they finally arrive for breakfast, they have awoke the toddler and come down in such a rush that I find myself throwing toast at them. At some point before school, there will be a fight between two or all three boys.

Then the tripping, the falling. They can't walk into a room without one or both of them falling down or knocking something over. I haven't sat at our dinnertable in 6 mos without one of them spilling a drink, dropping a utensil or food, or falling out of his chair. Last night a full glass of OJ went literally flying off the table, hit the french doors before ricocheting across the floor sending sticky juice all over the glass, cupboard, table, chair, wall, and floor.

The smell of them is sometime gag worthy. And I realize I haven't even hit puberty with these two! I will be suicidal then!!! I tote a Febreeze container all over the upstairs, spraying their rooms, bedding, closets and hampers. HAMPERS! Hampers are the third reich of hell. The towels, the clothes, the sweaty socks. Their bathroom is frightful, I only go in to clean it, once a week, and it is painful.

See, I take time to deliberate on this subject because I have 8 more years until they go to college and I'm not sure if we'll make it.

While I am often (ok, more than often) irritated by my two older sons, I can attest to them being very nice kids. They are kind. They don't pick on other kids (exception: 7 yr old brother). They don't mouth off their teachers. They don't fight at school. They are intelligent (outside of the home).

I don't pretend to be a kid lover. I'm not. I am a book lover. Kids take away from books. But I do LOVE my kids, sometimes I just am not crazy about them. I think all mothers feel this way. I think. If they don't then they are just kidding themselves.


In all honesty, I can say that my boys have brought a sense of reality to my life. I had no sibs, I had no idea what families do. We watched The Waltons and I thought that was what big families did at night.


In our house it's similiar, only not so much.


"Goodnight Mom, can you pack my lunch but not with carrots because I really want a bag of Doritoes instead and I need money for the book fair ok thanks goodnight oh and don't forget my jersey and omgosh where are my American Eagle jeans??"


Our seven year old has a different approach to bedtime. He tells us he loves us and goodnight. He then proceeds to tell his older brother all the things he hates about him. We used to encourage him to say nice things, but that's like saying "it's ok to lie"...so we let him.

We have no idea what we are doing. I wrote before that 'perfect parenting' is a myth.

The fact is, we have four kids. Chances are, one will be screwed up.
I will try my hardest to keep him/her out of prison.