THE SMELLY BUSINESS OF RAISING A BOY

Staring at the two young boys rubbing their crotch against my leather couch, I tried hard to mask the horror on my face. In my mind, I could see only two solutions to this problem: bleach the couch or get a new one.

“They do this all the time. Boys are obsessed with their penises!” laughed my friend, brushing off the strange behaviour as a common problem all mothers of boys experienced.

At the time, having a well-mannered and mild-tempered four-year-old daughter, I could not imagine any son of mine being different. Honestly, if someone had told me that raising boys would involve a ton of toilet humour and penile fascination, I would have scoffed at their ridiculous suggestion. But five years on, with a four-year-old son of my own, I am eating my words.

Now I scoff when anyone tells me that raising boys is no different from raising girls (e.g. my mum, who tells me that my inferior parenting skills are the reasons behind my son’s mischievous nature). Parenting a boy is like being a circus trainer, tasked with corralling a crazed monkey hyped on natural adrenaline. Imagine a cymbal clapping monkey with no off button and short-circuited.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. Perhaps it’s just my son, and I’m giving circus monkeys a bad name. Don’t get me wrong, I love my son. He is very loving and sweet, but man does he test my limits in ways my daughter never did.

When I complain about grey hairs as a result of raising a boy, I don’t think people truly believe me. So I think the best way is to give examples of how raising a boy has been different from raising a girl.

Example 1:
My four-year-old son and I are sprawled on the couch with a blanket on us. We chat about random topics. Out of nowhere, he pulls the blanket over our heads. Thinking it was a new game, I go along with it. He gives a suspicious giggle. A second later, I’m throwing off the blanket and gagging from the foul-smelling odour hitting my nostrils. Where my daughter finds bodily fumes disgusting, my son thinks it’s funny to Dutch oven his mother.

Point here: Little boys are fascinated with flatulence. They love doing farts, wielding these smelly fluff fluffs like weapons of mass destruction. If my son could use his putrid puffs as currency, he would be rich.

Example 2:
Every night I give the kids a goodnight cuddle and a kiss before they hop into bed. One night, my son asks me to crouch down to his level. Thinking that he wanted a big cuddle, I bend down. Instead of receiving a goodnight cuddle, my son turns his back to me, bends at the waist and proceeds to fart in my face. He laughs like a crazy hyena before scooting off to bed.

Point here: As a mother, I should always be on high alert for any signs pointing towards a fart attack. See previous point. 

Example 3:
We meet up with another boy my son’s age for a play date at the park. The minute we hit the playground, it’s like game on. My son turns everything into a pissing contest.

“Mummy, my water bottle is bigger than his!”
“Push me higher! I want to go higher than him!”
“I got here first, this is my steering wheel!”

Point here: Little boys are competitive. Whether it’s innate or not, expect roughhousing, aggression and most likely, tantrums.

Example 4:
Since my son has been out of nappies, he’s become obsessed with his penis. Sometimes he uses his peen as a hose. Sometimes it’s a toy to explore.

Oh, there’s a hole… I wonder if I can put something in it? Oh, what happens if I pull the skin really far out? Oh, I wonder what these two bumps are?

And now that he has better control of his bladder, he waits until shower time and uses my clean shower screen as his canvas for a pee drawing. A penis art brush.

Point here: Little boys love their penises, almost as much as potty humour. I bet this is a life-long love.

There are many examples I could write about but then this post would never end. And now, there is an eerie silence in the house, which is rarely a good thing when parenting a boy.

Let me sign off by saying there’s a certain charm to raising boys… and smell.

Copyright © 2020, KN J Tales and Snippets. All rights reserved.

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WELCOME TO MY BLOG!

Thanks for stopping by to KN J Tales and Snippets! Let me tell you a bit about myself and how this blog came to be.

I started journal writing as a form of cathartic release from all of the stresses of being a mother of two young children, working, and day-to-day living.

I found that many of my journal entries were funny snippets of my day spent with my two adventurous and cheeky cherubs. Oftentimes, I’ve found myself in rather amusing and outright unbelievable situations. Of course, there have been times upon self-reflection where the entries speak of the darker moments in my life, like my struggles with mental health issues and parenting.

Journal writing re-awakened my love for creative writing and storytelling. I found a desire to share my words with others. And so after much deliberation, this blog was born. My very own blog journal!

If you choose to join me on my journey, you’ll probably read short stories based on my personal experiences in life and as a parent. Most of the time, they’ll be funny and relatable, maybe even inspiring! Other times, you might read some words that are hard for me to write but find the courage to share.

I’ll aim for a weekly post. Maybe even two! (very unlikely at this stage in life)

Subscribe to my email list if you want to be informed of new content as my posting regime is best described as erratic.

I hope you enjoy reading my words as much as I love writing them.

x Kathy

KN J Tales and Snippet

MY BAKING JOURNEY

Every year I give my children the option of getting a store-bought birthday cake made by a professional or having me attempt to bake and decorate a cake based on a Google image of their choosing. So far, both have wanted me to bake their birthday cakes more times than not. Now, I’m no Nigella Lawson. It’s taken years of practice and many cake fails to get to a point where I don’t cringe doing the big cake reveal.

To give you an idea of my baking journey, here is my first attempt at creating a birthday cake:

It was supposed to be a baby dragon laying on green grass. As I lacked the tools to make perfect circles, I decided to roll the fondant into balls to hide the appalling gaps at the bottom of the cake. In doing so, I ran out of green fondant for the green grass and had to improvise. It became a blanket. And yes, it had zombie eyes. Obviously, eye anatomy was not my forte.

I’ve had many cakes, and cupcakes fail. Some rather epic. Oreo two-layered cake, anniversary mud cake…

and unicorn cupcakes…

Buttercream consistency has been my biggest issue to date. It tends to lean towards runny. I’ll admit that sometimes I cheat and get Betty Crocker’s help. Whipping store-bought frosting that’s been pimped with vanilla essence and cocoa powder makes a great alternative for frosting between cake layers.

Sometimes I feel like these picture perfect Instagram and Pinterest cakes are there to make us mere mortals feel bad when reality doesn’t match expectations. At least my attempt at a mango cream pudding ended up tasting better than it looked.

The cakes have gotten better over time. Probably because I realised the importance of exact measurements, sticking to a recipe and watched many YouTube videos. I learnt how to crumb coat, which is adding a thin layer of frosting to seal stray crumbs before a second layer of something else. I bought a cake leveller so my cakes no longer looked unbalanced.

I became more confident in working with fondant.

Fondant is magic! It covers unsightly bits, seals the cake and protects it from drying out. This means you can make the cake in advance and not fret the day of or before the party.

For an amateur baker, the last few birthday cakes have turned out alright! Frozen was a popular theme in our house.

Last week, I veered from my usual fondant covered three-layered buttercream cake to a four-layered chocolate mousse cake. I am a glutton for punishment.

I hadn’t quite allowed the mousse to chill enough before spooning it between the cake layers. Luckily, I had caught the cake before it toppled over and hit the floor. I doubt I could have applied the five second rule!

So there you have it folks! My baking journey for the last eight years since becoming a parent. Some of my best and worst creations!

Isn’t it better to have tried and failed than not have tried at all?

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