Let's Hear It for the Boys

photo credit: James Worley

I know that modern psychologists and students of gender studies tell us that there is no inherent difference between the sexes...that any variation is imposed by culture and parents. After having nearly two years to observe the differences between a daughter and son, I beg to differ. Of course, these same experts would say that I unconsciously treat Mercy and Judah differently according to social norms associated with their respective genders. This is probably true, but there are some things I'm quite sure I had nothing to do with.


1. "Anything you can do, I can do louder." Everything Judah does is loud. Mercy is a big mouth, and I am also not exactly a meek and quiet person. I'm not proud of that facet of my personality, but I'm loud. I just am. However, Judah can make more noise than Mercy, Benjy, and I combined. He lies down and kicks the toybox and walls of his bunkbed with his heels and chortles at the noise. He could peel paint with his screeches. He bangs his wooden and metal cars on everything. He sweeps blocks, dishes, silverware, coasters, toys, and books off of any surface just to hear the satisfying crash. He drives his trucks up and down the piano keyboard and grins at the cacophony. In church, he loves to play with his little metal trucks and cars, which should be a quiet activity. Not for Judah. He holds the truck up and announces, "TRUCK!" I say, "shhh! whisper!" He sweetly repeats "whisper." Then, "TRUCK!"


2. He could get dirty in a sterile room. I noticed today after church that Judah had dirt under his fingernails. I had just given him a bath. How does a little boy get a bath right before getting into a clean bed, then get up and get dressed, and ride in a clean car to church get dirt under his fingernails? I have found DIRT in his bed. We don't wear shoes in the house. His play clothes get taken off in the laundry room. Where does this dirt come from? I think he manufactures it. Judah can eat nothing, but NOTHING, without wearing it. He makes messes with "mess-free" snacks placed in "mess-free" snack cups. When he finishes a meal, we have to wipe off not only his face and hands, but his ears, hair, legs and feet. Seriously. He is the only child I have ever known that has to have the bottoms of his feet wiped off before he can be set down from the table. I'm not saying that Mercy has never been messy. She wasn't exactly neat when she was first navigating utensils and new foods. But she is generally a prim eater, and she has pretty little manners. Even though Judah has a much larger vocabulary than Mercy did at the same age, his manners are...well...rather Neanderthal. But I digress. He loves to get dirty. He will dip his head in the sandbox. His head! And when he ventures out to the woodpiles, he actually lies down in the sawdust and rolls around in it. Benj says he looks like a horse.


3. Selective hearing/memory is hardwired. Although I can't bust on Benj for selective hearing and memory, it's so stereotypically male and joked about so often among women that I suspect there is at least some truth in it. Judah already has selective memory, and I can guarantee that I had nothing to do with it. I can tell Judah a dozen times to leave the baby's swing alone, and each time I repeat it (even after he gets disciplined for mucking with it!) it's a revelation. However, when I bought him a new Hot Wheels car last night, I told him it was a Chevy. Today, he ran out of the playroom and down the hall toward me as if he was possessed of a sudden inspiration, shoved his new car under my nose and said proudly "CHEVY! CHEVY!" I can tell him fifty times not to stand on the furniture, and yet, shortly after being introduced to the fascinating world of construction vehicles, he was drowsing in the backseat when he suddenly came to life and shouted "DIGGER! DIGGER!" And there was.


4. Body functions are funny. 'Nuff said.


5. If it doesn't fit, push harder. I have never been around such a destructive child in my life. Judah breaks everything. And it's not because he's "bad" or disrespectful of property or unappreciative of his possessions. He's just rough. And curious. He likes to take things apart. And put them back together. Sort of. His tender ministrations usually require wood glue, clamps, and Benj spending time out at his work bench repairing Judah's handiwork. Puzzles and shape sorters aren't tools for learning in Judah's hands. They are evil agents of frustration. Instead of trying another shape or piece when the one he's trying doesn't fit, Judah just pushes all the harder, trying to force the star shape into the square opening. Of course, the adult onlookers know that this never works, but despite our efforts at re-directing, Judah has to try it for himself, which results in screeches of frustration and abandonment of the toy.

6. "Because it was there." That's why he climbs anything. When I was pregnant with Zion, there were times that I was so exhausted because of insomnia that I had to rest. I hate admitting that I've laid aside my supermom cape and resorted to the movie-as-babysitter trick, but I have. It isn't often, but "desperate times..." and all that. So  on those uncommon days, I would move Mercy and Judah's high chairs in front of the computer, buckle them in, and give them a snack and a drink, and put on Thomas the Tank Engine. I would rest on the couch or loveseat, both just a few steps away. I didn't sleep, just dozed, and I could hear what was going on. This worked a few times, until I opened my eyes to Mercy saying "Mommy, look at Dudah!" Even though he was buckled in, he had gotten out of the high chair, crawled across the tray, and was kneeling on the computer desk's slide-out computer tray. Thus, Houdini shot down in flames my one chance at a respite. Besides high chairs, Judah has also climbed out of the portable crib and climbed up bookshelves. I have found him kneeling on the piano and crawling across the dining room table. I'm really not sure how he has escaped an emergency room visit. He does, however, usually look like he was on the losing end of a prize fight with all his bruises and scrapes and scratches from rough landings.

Oh, but I do love him. Let's hear it for the boys!

photo credit: James Worley