Adventures in Imperfection

Dirt Covered Noise


If you are reading this, then it means I made it out alive. Mostly.

I’m writing this pre-battle with the intent to publish once the dust settles, the bodies retrieved and names changed. Starting this post  27 minutes and 6 seconds before NINE teenage boys descend upon our fortress and pillage it like the Vikings in an unprotected village. The calm before the storm.

Boys. Lots of them. Full of testosterone, loud voices, smelly gas and uncontrollable urges to make poor choices.

Why, WHY did I agree to this? Was it drug-induced or a make-up call given the fact that I was hanging out in Vegas on Dane’s birthday.  Since I don’t do drugs, I’ll have to go with the second and plead Mom-guilt at its worst.

The precedent was set last year. Seven boys camped in my basement over a period of 24-36 hours. Two fried chickens, one cake, 5 dozen cookies, countless bags of chips, bacon, pizza, soda, water, licorice and that little package of something that had been sitting in the pantry corner for almost 18 months. I was wiped clean like the locust plague in the Bible. But…they were good, respectful, in bed by midnight and nothing was broken. How could I refuse when he threw the puppy dog eyes at me and asked for the same party this year?

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Before last year’s party, Dane proudly led me into the basement where they would be setting up camp for the night. “Look Mom! I took all of the lamps down and the pictures off the wall so nothing will get broken.”

You tell me. Is that being responsible or premeditatation?

And here’s the kicker. I love boys. I really, really do. Big boys, little boys, baby boys, man boys and especially, MY boys! BUT, I love boys even more when I have my Tanna there to help me cope. With her at college, the lack of estrogen in this house is VERY evident.

No matter what age, they are truly their own species with an unspoken language that includes grunts, farts, laughter and dirt. Moving, yelling, stabbing, rolling, eating,  wrestling, climbing, piercing, shooting and tackling.

“Dirt covered noise”

Being a girl has always made me feel trapped within the confines of what is expected of me; be a lady, be polite, be nice, don’t be loud–be quiet and passive and keep your legs crossed. These traits were passed along to my own sweet Tanna who can charm a room with her quiet smile, gracious demeanor and manners. Despite our outside feminine characteristics, Tanna and are both self-proclaimed tomboys because we want the best of both worlds.

The toughness of a boy with the feminine allure of being a girl.

Brave enough to climb trees, catch frogs and stand up to bullies. Strong enough to win an arm wrestling match and look hot while doing so. Boys get to hang out at a football games, eat hotdogs and not once worry about being bloated or having PMS. While being a girl definitely has it’s advantages (cute shoes for example),  it always seems like boys have more fun. They get to hunt, fish, play football, fix stuff, drive cool cars and master weaponry while the girls are stuck inside doing needlepoint or (barf) shopping!

Which brings me back to this year’s party.

Since the beginning of this post, I’ve paused to feed, bandage bloody wounds (12 minutes and 32 seconds since the first boy arrived) and provide everyone with protective eye gear. Daddy has already had to repair a busted airsoft rifle and one of the dudes has managed to plummet down the rock-filled crevice that leads into our creek.

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In the 90 minutes since they have been here I’ve watched two kettles of spaghetti and 160 meatballs disappear into thin air.


(Excuse me, I need to go peel my son off of the poor dude who has never wrestled a day in his life)

Okay, I’m back. Lord help me. I never needed to worry about injuries or blood when Tanna had a birthday party. No doubt,  girl parties definitely get vicious–but I have yet to see a broken bone or dislocated shoulder as a result of a nasty bit of sarcasm.

Boys are so…PHYSICAL! Two sweet young ladies from Dane’s class (Mackenzie and Tyra) decided to stop by to check out the fun. The collective, puzzled look on their faces was priceless! Mackenzie said, “Boy’s parties are so different. They just hit each other. Spend hours just hitting each other? We play games or watch movies at my parties.”

Tyra said, “Boy parties are way more fun.”

I agreed with Tyra until I found myself traipsing down the stairs for the 50th time  at 3:30 a.m. and threatening them with anything I could think of so they would….just….sleep….PLEASE!

Apparently a mom in glasses and ugly PJs isn’t all that scary. I should have turned on the lights for full horror show effect.


Fast forward 36 hours. We survived. Hubby and I are almost back on speaking terms (funny how 2 hours of sleep can turn differing opinions on coffee-making into grounds for divorce) and Dane only has about 312 more Airsoft pebbles to pick out of the carpets…and corners, and rafters, light fixtures, and body orifices. I managed to have just one Mom Meltdown and that was quickly fixed by a hug from an understanding mom when she picked up her kiddo (thanks, Jen!)  No one needed the ER (I can stitch that stuff up with skin glue!) and no animals were injured in the filming (yes, we have Instagram proof of nonsense posted everywhere!)

Final casualty count: Spaghetti supper noted above, 3 dozen cookies and cupcakes, 5 bags of popcorn, 3 cases of soda, 3 pounds of bacon, 18 eggs, 2 loaves of cinnamon bread, 12 potatoes, and countless bags of chips, protein bars and miscellaneous snacks. The only things that remain are 9 sets of broken and/or lost safety glasses, mismatched gloves, 5 “pairs” of socks and 2 or 3 stray hoodies.

No matter how tired and frazzled I am, one thing remains true. I love these boys. A lot. I love Dane’s friends and will always treat them like my own. Which, if you ask Dane, is a pretty good deal (minus my meltdowns!)

That being year’s birthday may just be dinner and a movie.

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Note: Cartoon images from Pinterest

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