4 kids in 3 years: reflections on motherhood, art and life.
I don’t like eight-year-old boys.You might remember that I didn’t like seven-year-old boys much either.
It’s hard to describe what the actual thing is that he does that drives me so bonkers. He teases his sister. He says mean things during time out. When his brother is playing with his toys, he punches him in the solar plexus and laughs a little. He whines to play Monopoly or baseball in the yard, but even when I comply (and I pretty much hate baseball only slightly less than I hate Monopoly), he is still a jerk. (From I Don’t Like Eight-Year-Old Boys at Scary Mommy)
So if you have an eight-year-old boy or know an eight-year-old boy (and who doesn’t know an eight-year-old boy?) then please head on over to Scary Mommy and check out the whole post.
Comment there. Or share it on Facebook. It’ll make you feel good. And it might make your friends feel good. It’ll certainly make me feel good anyway. And at this point in a very looooong summer with an eight-year-old boy (plus two sixes and a five), feeling good is a good thing. For you and for me.