Bonding and lack thereof

January 6, 2015

It’s become quite clear as our boys get older that they are boys….. and I, well, am not. We’ve moved passed the “mommy doesn’t have a peeper” and the “no we can’t buy one in the store” phase. That conversation was always fun in a public bathroom……. *sigh*…….

Besides the physical differences that were once the only thing that made one of us a girl and the rest of them boys, more differences are becoming evident now that they are getting older. Namely differences in interests. One in particular: FOOTBALL.

I was raised with 4 sisters.

I know nothing about football.

And it’s sort of not fair.

My husband can flop on the couch, grab a beer, flick on a football game and bond with our sons for hours every Sunday, Monday, sometimes Thursday (it seems like every night) that football is on.


Fist bumping.


How easy and fun is that?

But me? In order to bond with my sons I have to sweat through messy arts and crafts that nobody wants to do, bake (barf),  and go on mommy and son dates that always wind up at the toy store so we are guaranteed to come home with a smile.

Sensing my frustration my husband suggested that I pretend to be interested in football. He even started feeding me game scores to share with my son to impress him. So when my son came downstairs the other morning and I reported oh-so sleekly, “Cowboys 20, Lions 24”.. (or something like that),  he looked straight at my husband, tilted his head, snarled his upper lip and said, “Huh??? Mom knows football? Dad, was that really the score?” I knew it was no use. I won’t fake it til I make it. I won’t do it.

Instead? I look at the clock, tell myself I have 4 hours of me-time and get over it.


  • catherine
    January 6, 2015 at 9:59 pm

    Same thing here, except I have both football AND hockey to contend with… and that can be on any night of the week. I don’t mind a little bit, but between the games, the highlights, and actually playing the sports it gets a bit excessive! I would love someone to go to the spa with 🙂

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