Boys Are Gross

I don't usually like to compare boys to girls.  I strive to be neutral, especially with my daughters, and not box them into gender-specific roles.  However, after three years of living with two boys of the same age I have come to the conclusion that boys really are just gross.  Not to say that my girls haven't made my stomach churn on occassion, but not quite to the extent or with the same conviction as the boys.

Owen has two primary interests at the moment:  Spiderman and magic tricks.  There are others, but these are the ones that consume him on a daily basis.  He must be adorned in a Spiderman shirt at all times...even if the only one available is covered in yogurt and blueberry juice.  He shoots webs at anyone who dares to oppose him.  He also tries to shoot the cats with a nerf gun because they are "bad guys."  Explaining to him that Spiderman does not use guns is a moot point.  Spiderman uses whatever resources he has to defeat cats, parents and siblings.  Connor is usually Batman, so this works for him.  Batman has a few odd traits, too, though:  he uses a sword, wears goggles, and somehow attacks by saying, "Batman" followed by a strange sound that is a cross between a belch and shattering glass.

This morning Owen was not Spiderman.  He was a magician.  He came up to me in his Spiderman t-shirt and a Pull-Up, and told me, "Mom...say 'Hocus Pocus.'"

"Hocus Pocus."

He then pulled out a pair of my underwear...from inside the front of his Pull-Up.

"Ta-da!" 

I'm not really sure what to say about that. 

Later, he pooped in his Pull-Up. 

I'm going to take a moment to note that we are having many issues with potty-training.  Both boys know how to use the potty...they just refuse to do so most of the time.  They are totally unconcerned with the nastiness (and rashes) that result from this choice.

I went to change him, and his bottom was bright red.  After several attempts to wipe, with him squirming and crying, I decided to just stick him in the shower.  As soon as I get him set, Connor walks into the bathroom...naked from the waist down.

"Mommy, I want bath."

"Not now, Connor...Owen isn't getting a bath...he's getting a shower."

"Oh.  I'm dirty."

He holds his hands out to me...and they are covered in poop.  I turn him around and see that his bottom, legs and socks are also covered in poop.  I wipe up what I can, and stick him in the shower with his brother.  After hearing several versions of a song where the chorus consisted of variations of "booty-butt-butt," I hear Irelynn, who has now entered the bathroom, say, "Ew, Connor...are you peeing in the shower?"

"Yes."

I look in at him. He grins back at me, peeing.

"Connor...don't pee in the shower."

"Okay."

I finally get them clean, and notice Owen has a nice dangling booger.  Now, of all things, this is one of the few things that actually make me feel sick to my stomach.  I reach to get a tissue...but not before he gets it with his finger...and puts it in his mouth. 

I shudder, and for the second time today I am rendered speechless.  He just smiles. 

The boys are now in bed, and as late as it is, I might have to take a shower myself.  I really need to get rid of the boy cooties.