I am the mother of a teenage boy. This doesn’t come as a shock to me. I learned early on that once they’re born, they start growing and it continues like that for quite awhile. There are a lot of smiles, tears, sleepless nights, laughter, food, bumps and bruises, quiet moments and (very, very) loud moments, and many messes in between. But, time waits for no man -or woman- and one day you turn around and they’re standing there, with a big grin on their face, looking down at you.
I didn’t arrive at this point in my life without some preparation. I leave nothing to chance. On the recommendation of a mental health professional, I armed myself with lots of reading material about teen boys.
One book in particular has grabbed my attention, and though I’m only about a third of the way in, I’ve already gained tremendous insight. The author gives in depth analysis of the thought patterns of these peculiar creatures, as corroborated by the creatures themselves.
At times, I find myself nodding vigorously over the open book or having an “ah-ha” moment, where things start to click and really make sense. And what I’m learning from this incredible tome will surely be invaluable in dealing with my tow-headed teen, someday. But for now, things are pretty smooth in our world. As a matter of fact, he still thinks I’m an alright mom.
So what then are the, “now it all makes sense,” moments about? Well, it turns out, I’ve married a teenage boy. Wow, that sounds creepy and super-illegal. What I mean is that my husband (who I assure you is a fully grown, adult man) has the emotional acuity of a teenage boy.
I’ve scoured the pages of this book, praying for insight to help me survive the mean, testosterone laden years of ages 13 through 19, but it seems I should have purchased this title prior to my wedding. It would surely have helped me through the countless times when I’ve asked my husband, “what the hell is going on in your head?”
A true revelation came to me when reading the chapter on lying. Oh yes, the entire chapter is dedicated to the thought process behind lying; the motivation that brings boys to lie, the logic they employ when lying and even what personality traits help to make a skilled liar.
The author only spends a couple of pages discussing why boys lie, and a mere paragraph on reason one, which is titled “Self-Delusion,” but it was as if she had unlocked the mystery of the Bermuda triangle and where socks go when they don’t come out of the dryer, in one felt swoop.
“The boy lies because he genuinely believes that in the future, he’ll do the things he’s supposed to have already done…they don’t think they’re technically lying because they believe they’ll eventually do it.” (Masterminds and Wingmen by Rosalind Wiseman, page 104)
Holy mother of all things that are sane and normal, do boys really believe this craziness? I know my son does because I’ve seen his bedroom after he has sworn up and down that he has cleaned that hellhole. But the fact that this belief seems to carry through to adulthood is disturbing.
Though I wouldn’t call it a blatant lie, those words finally clarified this situation:
Me: Brian, could you please do (insert chore here)?
Brian: Yes.
And then nothing. No movement. No action. No inkling of an idea that the words that passed through my lips have reached his brain.
At that point, one of either of two things will occur. As I stare directly at him, my disbelief and fury mounting, wondering what his freaking plan is, incredulously trying to gauge when he intends to actually get up off his arse and complete the job, I either ask again, in a much less polite way, or I storm away to take on the task myself.
Reading this passage has cleared that all up. I now know that he is actually thinking about doing it. That at some point in the future, he plans to complete the chore. And as such, he believes that saying, “yes,” has sufficiently placated me.
What an asinine way to go through life.
Why in hell would one not just freaking do it? Is there a secret timetable that only men share? Some ridiculous clock that tells them that “later” is an acceptable time to get things done? It’s absolutely baffling. It’s right up there with “on” the hamper, instead of “in” the hamper. What the hell is that about, anyway? That tiny vowel can mean the difference between happy, calm wife and raving banshee wife who grows fangs and vomits fire. Jeez-us.
So, if there are any men in your life, I recommend that you read this book. And if you’re a man, I’m sorry. Though it may not make you feel any better about the crazy that resides inside the male brain, it will give you a glimpse at the bizarre mechanism that makes them run (or in many cases, slowly meander).
And if you have survived the men in your life this long, chances are good that you won’t kill them anytime soon. Besides, murder sounds like another messy chore. Who has time for that?
A stress ball is a great tool when dealing with unruly husbands. Squeezing the heck out of it may help prevent injury. You can interpret that however you like. And if that doesn’t work, you can throw it at him.
Stress Ball
One balloon
One cup sand or flour
A funnel
Place funnel into the balloon. Fill the balloon with sand/flour about 3/4 of the way. Remove funnel and tie balloon closed.
I eventually solved the in/on hamper dilema by eliminating the lid completely. What tricks have you developed to keep you out of jail? I would love to hear them. Send your suggestions to laurie@riverheadlocal.com.
