Boy Dirt


A friend posted this photo on Facebook and I had to use it. So timely after my ‘noise’ post. I cannot comment on girls and dirt and exploration, as I am the only girl in my family, however, I can say for sure, that my boys at least LOVE dirt. And noise.

Dirt. They love eating it, throwing it, smushing it all over their bodies, jamming it in the mouths of their brothers and wedging it is places that you won’t discover until the random, once yearly clean spring clean. Their grandfather wanted to build them a sandpit. Call me a kill joy, but given that they already bring half a wheelbarrow load of sand home in their pockets from day care, I was not keen to have the other half piling up in my lounge room, bathroom, kitchen and bedroom from our own backyard. At one point I gave a passing thought to whether I should give a passing thought to all that dirt that they were eating. Nah. At some point they are sure to figure out that it tastes like crap. Still waiting.

I’m sure there are placid boys and placid girls, high voltage boys and high voltage girls. So I won’t generalise and say it’s a boy thing. But as much as I try hard not to gender stereotype (and I find I have to a lot lately as my 4 year old keeps telling me what the boy colours are and what the girl colours are) there are some boy traits that I am glad of. Being a non girly girl myself, I can’t say how pleased I am that, unless my boys turn out to be, let’s say, more in touch with their feminine side, tulle and fairies and pink and princesses and tiaras and Hanna Montana and Justin Bieber and Bratz are unlikely to be a part of my future domestic environment.

The twins stripped off this afternoon and ran around with the hose (tank water in use). It was tear jerkingly hilarious how obsessed they were with their perky little best friends down below. They could barely see where they were going for all the bending over and fiddling. Now that is a boy thing. It is a life long relationship of love, fascination and confusion that begins in infant hood. When that nappy comes off, it is like those little hands can’t get there fast enough. It’s like, look mum, if you’re taking that nappy off, if it’s out there, I’m on it. It’s my God given male duty. I must play. Do not stand in my way.

Dirt. Noise. Willies. Love it.


About traceyegan

I live in Australia with my husband and three boys. I work outside the home with other people's kids and inside the home with my own kids. It's a world of kids. All views are my own and do not reflect that of my employer.

One response »

  1. This made me grin a lot.

    Also on this topic, another friend of mine just posted this on Facebook:

    O: “Mum, I can’t go to bed, my willy is too big…”
    Me: “Well, you’ll have to stop playing with it then…”
    O: “Oh”

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