Earth Girls are Easy

I don't know if I have what it takes to raise a son.

I have three kids. Two girls, and "The Boy." My girls are easy. We understand each other. When my 9 year old falls in a hormone-induced inconsolable heap because her pants "make her look funny," I can sympathize with her and help her get through it. When my 3 year old decides to wear 7 pieces of clothing all in varying shades of pink and doesn't want my help choosing them anymore, I can step back and let her express herself through her appearance. (Of course, I live in mortal embarrassment and fear that government workers will come take her away because I clearly can't take care of children if they're dressed like that.)

But The Boy, now, he's another thing altogether.

I originally noticed this when the first thing he ever did was pee on me. That pretty much established our relationship. The girls never peed on me. I never had to wear protective rain gear to change their diapers. Of course, in keeping with all that male bonding stuff I've read about, his father was pleased as punch. "Way to go, Boy!" he said.

I've lived through obsessions with dinosaurs, superheros, dinosaurs and Legos. And dinosaurs. The Boy is like a dinosaur encyclopedia. He can rattle off dinosaur names like "pachycephalosaurus" without blinking an unfairly long eyelash. He cannot, however, tie his own shoes. Nor does he show any signs of wanting to learn how. I'm trying to convince him that chicks like a guy who can tie his own shoes, but he's not biting.

He also has a listening problem. I know it's not a hearing problem because my friend and I conducted an experiment one day after I talked with her about how I can literally stand in the same room with him and shout his name and he doesn't hear me. I was really starting to think I needed to get his hearing tested. Instead, we tried saying words he was interested in. It went like this:

Me: Luke, what did you learn in school today?
Luke: (chirping crickets)

Me: Look Luke, a DINOSAUR!
Luke: Huh?

Me: Luke, do you want milk or water?
Luke: (wind whistling through the trees)

Me: SPIDERMAN!
Luke: Could I have some water?

If only I could figure out how to apply this valuable knowledge to my husband, who clearly suffers from the same listening problem as The Boy, only he's more selective. He, for instance, only doesn't hear me when I ask him to take out the trash, or do the dishes.

Finally, The Boy is becoming a real challenge as far as telling the truth. He has a very active imagination. Apparently, this has allowed him to live in his own world. A world in which, when I ask him "what did you learn in school today," an acceptable answer can actually contain the words "dinosaurs", "crocodiles" or "Legos". He spins elaborate yarns about how his teacher hatched a real dinosaur egg, or how she wrestled a crocodile, or that they finished all their books and his teacher told him he didn't have to do any reading tonight or go back to school. Ever.
The Boy is also convinced that he will soon go live with his Uncle John on the USS Starship Enterprise where Uncle John will be the Captain, but he, The Boy, will get to push all the buttons. There will also be a fair amount of shooting aliens involved, and they will eat pizza all the time.

I suppose it should make me feel better when my husband's parents often laugh at us when we tell them stories about The Boy. Yes, they laugh AT us. It's as if they're telling us that they remember my husband doing the exact same thing, and that it serves us right. My problem with this is that my husband is clearly the intended target of this reproductive Karma and I don't know what I did to deserve the fallout.

After all, I was just sugar and spice and everything nice. Just like all girls. Right?