Lately the boys have decided they hate all things girl-related. I suppose this is common, but when five boys team up, things can get rather dramatic and reactionary. They scream bloody murder when a Barbie commercial is on during their favorite testosterone-fueled cartoon. They poke each other in the ribs and say "You want one of those" in snotty tones while pointing at Bratz dolls at the store. They make grotesque faces and moan as if they're in pain while passing the lingerie section at the department store.
I've tried my best to temper this by lecturing them about how someday they'll meet a girl who might have liked these things. I've tried the speech about how hurt their future daughter might be by their Daddy's hatred of all things pink. (I know not all girls like dolls or pink, but I was trying to make a point!)
My sister Christina was watching the boys for me one day and knew about the gender battle I'd been waging with my sons. When a commercial for something having to do with "Cheetah Girls" aired and the jeering ensued, she tried to back me up.
Christina: "You know boys, someday you'll have a wife and she might've liked this stuff."
Liam (interrupting): "I know. And I'm not happy about it one little bit."
I had my revenge this past week when the weather turned warm. I made homemade strawberry ice cream -- the prettiest, pinkest, most delicate-looking strawberry ice cream of all time. They wolfed down the entire batch in about three minutes flat.
Mom: "How did you like the strawberry ice cream?"
Boys: Unanimous approval.
Mom: "Wasn't it pretty?"
Boys: "Sure was, Mom!"
Score a subtle point for Mom. I was intelligent enough to keep myself from gloating. I'll take one little victory at a time and then save it for when it really counts ... like when the Hannah Montana commercial they really hate comes on.