Search and Destroy are fraternal twins. Once they go away to college, each will make his own individual decision on whether or not to join a fraternity – a group of persons associated by, or as if by, ties of brotherhood. Just in case, they’ve begun practicing for their pledge class.
The conversation began, “I only turned my head for second…”
And when that’s the preschool teacher’s opening line, you know it’s gonna be good.
It was just after snack time. His teacher turned away momentarily to deal with a fellow toddling terror. (Bonnie perhaps? I’ve been assured my progeny isn’t the only class clown.)
When she turned back, Destroy had grabbed the gallon of milk off the counter and was chugging it down, straight from the jug.
Jon and I began buying lactose free milk years ago. Not because either of us couldn’t handle our dairy. (Harkening back to my own collegiate days, the phrase, “The mucus is coming!” rings very true in terms of my then roommate. Love you Auntie Beeeca!) But because it lasts a LOT longer – I’m talking weeks. We just don’t drink that much of it.
And then came the muppets.
It started with the pumping. Breast milk is best for babes? Liquid gold for preemies? MAKE ALL THE MILK! And on the other end of that spectrum – my tiny tots declared, “Challenge accepted! DRINK ALL THE MILK!” Turns out that was just the beginning. We’re going through gallons now. A friend warned me that a single teenage boy can down two gallons a week, easy. I have two.
Dear god – I’m gonna need to buy a cow. Potentially problematic, considering Destroy presently refers to all bovines as “scary brown cows.” But who knows what a couple of brotherly frat boys in training are going to find amusing.
During the last rainstorm I received a photo from the boys’ teacher. Due to the soggy barometer, all tiny peeps were forced to remain indoors. Imaginative pretend play ensued.
And my little dudes were all about the glittery tutus. Apparently all the boys are known for their immediate draw to all things shiny and glittery.
Last week I walked into their classroom. Search was cuddled up with his teacher and a book. He looked up, “Mommy – I’m reading!” I swelled with pride. Clearly I am a fantabulous mother, cultivating a love of learning within my children.
Shortly thereafter, Destroy came streaking through a side door screaming at the top of his lungs. For no apparent reason. Hot on his tail was another teacher, chasing the miscreant down. I sighed. I have future frat boy.
We returned home. Where I have conceded defeat.
I’ve found the boys passed out in random places, drinks still in hand. I’ve cleaned up projectile puke.
And it’s all about having fun as they develop tight fraternal ties at home.
I am a boymom. Apparently a (frat)boymom.
I guess that’s what happens when you live in a perpetual brotherhood from the moment of conception.