Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Alone in the House of Estrogen

Only Son has made an occasional appearance in these ramblings, but not yet had a post feature him specifically.  In honor of his latest all 'A' report card and upcoming confirmation, I'd like to rectify that.

Though he is (obviously) the lone male offspring, he's not exactly alone in the House of Estrogen.  Husband is here too, but as a fully matured testosterone-driven beast, Husband is better equipped to deal the ebb and flow of murky femininity he must wade through daily.  Fluctuating hormones, tears, mysterious hygiene products, and an over-abundance of shoes and pretty pastels are nothing to him having grown up with six sisters of his own.  For balance, however, he also had four brothers to compete, rough-house and guy-bond with, while Only Son tends to get reprimanded for teasing, putting his sisters in a headlock or whipping a football at their heads.

I can sympathize.  It must be frustrating getting in trouble for behavior that, in a household of all boys, would be considered normal, expected even. Only Son has a hard enough time just getting his sisters to go outside and throw a ball or Frisbee around, let alone having to be gentlemanly about it.  A healthy dose of organized sports would do him a world of good, but other than one season of little league and a few of middle school basketball (his first two spent bench warming), he's never been tremendously interested.  Except when he wanted to do lacrosse - but that was just because "you get to beat on each other with a stick!", and his over-protective Momster just couldn't get into the "guy-ness" of it.  Especially since most of the other players  outweighed him by about fifty pounds.

Last spring he was kinda pumped about joining the Ultimate Frisbee team --- until his "theatre family" (which includes his older sister) talked him into doing the spring play.  Coming to bat for him, I managed to convince Husband that it was okay for Only Son to choose memorizing pages of Puritan Judge monologues over whipping plastic disks around a muddy field, but just barely.

For some really obscure reason, Only Son thinks he is overworked.  Considering the fact that most household chores he's assigned usually have to be redone by me, I just don't see it. 

(typical O.S. DISH-ASTER!)

He also thinks it horribly unfair that he has to split firewood (Husband does the lion's share) while his sisters only have to load, unload, stack and haul.  We got him his own splitting maul and everything, enumerating the muscle and character building attributes of hard physical labor, appealing to his male ego.  He must be maturing: last summer he complained less than usual... though he'd still rather waste an hour whacking the heads off wildflowers with a heavy stick.  Destruction is more his thing.  If we could only find him an old building to demolish, he'd be in seventh heaven

--- unless he thought he had to do it.  Then there would be no end to the complaining.

There is one distinct advantage to having all of those sisters.  He's discovered - much too early in my opinion - that he is quite the ladies man.  It doesn't hurt that he's tall, blond and good looking either.  But being a good singer, dancer, poet and not at all shy around girls wouldn't amount to much if he didn't know how to schmooze.

And that he does....

...cuz' Only Son is a hugger.  Not just any ol' hugger, but a GREAT BIG THROW YOUR ARMS AROUND AND SNUGGLE hugger - and it melts this Momster to mush.  I can remember his chubby little butter-ball two-an-a-half-year-old self doing the same.  In fact, I used to call him My Butter Boy for wanting a stick of butter for Christmas.  Or him sleepy and melting into me like butter.

Now he's melting other hearts.

And so, even though he is basically alone in the house of estrogen, he's got it made. 

And yes, sometimes maid.  'Cuz no matter how many dirty socks he forgets to turn, or complaints about chores (or lack of junk food in the pantry) he lodges, he is still my littl-... er....great big Butter Boy.

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