Gross
One of my favorite fonts (and the font we use for our kikibOnan tags -- shamelessplug) is called Boyz R Gross.
Obviously, created by a girl.
As girls, we start out thinking boys are gross...then they're not gross -- they're nice and kinda' cute. Then they're cute AND gross, but we don't mind the gross because of how cute they are then we marry them and they are gross again. Because, suddenly the cute is replaced with things like dirty toilets and having to launder their exercise gear.
Then you have sons. And I love my boys more than I though I could ever love boys. I am overthemoon CRAZY about those dudes. Just ask my husband.
But, as any mom of boys will tell you, the cycle begins again. But it goes backward. They start out adorable and precious and you love them like crazy. And they are not gross, really, any more than any baby is gross. Then they start playing in dirt and giggling when they poot (it's inherent with boys) -- now they're getting a little gross, but let's face it, still pretty darn cute. Then they stop washing their hands when they use the bathroom and forget to wear underwear and lick their hands to slap each other's faces and make underarm farting noises everywhere. Getting grosser by the second. Then they show up with gum in their hair despite the fact that they had gum days ago and have taken several showers since, except they forgot to use soap. Or shampoo. They have potatoes growing under their nails, they store their retainers next to the fake dog poop they keep on top of their dressers (and you're not sure which is which), and there are dirty socks everywhere. I actually found one balled up inside my son's yearbook. His YEARBOOK. Which, remarkably, was on the shelf where it was supposed to be. Thank God for small miracles. There is underwear between the wall and his bed, and there are wet things on the floor of his closet, along with a million shoe strings and used tissues. There again, thank God for small miracles -- he used a tissue! But the socks smell, and the underwear. My boys themselves are generally just grimy everywhere. To make matters worse, T's coloring is so dark that I can't tell if it's dirt or his skin. I wish I could say it's just his skin. They smell like pickles and trashcan. And they're not even teenagers yet.
And now, they have to wear cups. Which you, as their mother, have to wash.
It's a good thing we love boys. And it's a good thing that love can overcome the disgusting that. is. boys.
You know, that's why boys love their moms so much.
We know too much.
Obviously, created by a girl.
As girls, we start out thinking boys are gross...then they're not gross -- they're nice and kinda' cute. Then they're cute AND gross, but we don't mind the gross because of how cute they are then we marry them and they are gross again. Because, suddenly the cute is replaced with things like dirty toilets and having to launder their exercise gear.
Then you have sons. And I love my boys more than I though I could ever love boys. I am overthemoon CRAZY about those dudes. Just ask my husband.
But, as any mom of boys will tell you, the cycle begins again. But it goes backward. They start out adorable and precious and you love them like crazy. And they are not gross, really, any more than any baby is gross. Then they start playing in dirt and giggling when they poot (it's inherent with boys) -- now they're getting a little gross, but let's face it, still pretty darn cute. Then they stop washing their hands when they use the bathroom and forget to wear underwear and lick their hands to slap each other's faces and make underarm farting noises everywhere. Getting grosser by the second. Then they show up with gum in their hair despite the fact that they had gum days ago and have taken several showers since, except they forgot to use soap. Or shampoo. They have potatoes growing under their nails, they store their retainers next to the fake dog poop they keep on top of their dressers (and you're not sure which is which), and there are dirty socks everywhere. I actually found one balled up inside my son's yearbook. His YEARBOOK. Which, remarkably, was on the shelf where it was supposed to be. Thank God for small miracles. There is underwear between the wall and his bed, and there are wet things on the floor of his closet, along with a million shoe strings and used tissues. There again, thank God for small miracles -- he used a tissue! But the socks smell, and the underwear. My boys themselves are generally just grimy everywhere. To make matters worse, T's coloring is so dark that I can't tell if it's dirt or his skin. I wish I could say it's just his skin. They smell like pickles and trashcan. And they're not even teenagers yet.
And now, they have to wear cups. Which you, as their mother, have to wash.
It's a good thing we love boys. And it's a good thing that love can overcome the disgusting that. is. boys.
You know, that's why boys love their moms so much.
We know too much.
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