Men can’t see their hands in front of their faces. How many times have you heard (or said, depending on your sex), “Where are my socks? I can’t find them.” In my house those types of questions are asked so frequently that I don’t even answer them any more.
Marcus was building with a new Lego set at the kitchen counter when he started panicking over a missing piece. He began, “Mom, I can’t find the spaceship piece.” Before I even reached him, he was in a four-alarm panic — only for me to point out that the missing piece was next to his hand.
On a later occasion (that same day), he was spinning circles in the kitchen looking for the laundry basket — only to trip over it.
This is the same kid who from 10 yards spotted an inch-sized Lego logo peeking out from under a bath towel on the highest shelf in my closet. “Is that something for me,” he grinned. I pretended not to hear him and thought Mrs. Claus wasn’t doing a very good hiding job.
Men like to be waited on. Men may not admit it… you may not admit to doing it, but it’s a fact.
Jacob sweeps up in this category. Whenever he’s in the hospital, he has me running around like a maniac: Drinks, craft supplies, books, snacks, toys, paper. As I leave the room each time, I remind him that he’ll never find a woman to wait on him like his mother. Nurses sometimes giggle, “They start early, don’t they?”
Men are ultimately charmers. That’s why we love ’em and why we keep ’em.
Samuel has reinvented this fact. When I’m the angriest at him he blinks his eyes and in a southern drawl twangs, “You know ma, I liiiiiike yew.”
I’ve just decided it’s in the genes.
Until next time,