The single biggest shock to my girl sensibilities, that is entirely in keeping with the male stereotype, so I really should have known better, is that boys love to destroy.

I am sure it is not unique to small boy people that when you undertake a craft activity, the end result is never anything like you imagined. It is best to check your craft agenda at the door because otherwise there will be tears and heartache and nobody likes to see their mother cry. However, when I attempt any sort of building, making, or creating activity, I rarely get past the unpacking. Everything is unceremoniously tipped out, swept through, torn up and tossed about, before I’ve even had a chance to say the words “Now let’s just…”. If I manage to get two things on top of each other, they are a tower, ripe for destruction and annihilation will be imminent. I have seen one foot take down 50 blocks, with one kick. The real marvel is that the 50 blocks, made it into a building in the first place. Lego, I assumed, had half a chance, the bricks actually click into each other, ridiculous, girl limitation mindset.

Pencils are for throwing, like javelins. Textors are for stabbing, like daggers. Cars are for smashing into walls, as hard as humanly possible. Plates are perfect for throwing, at people is best, full of food for first prize. Tenpins, should be called Two pins because that’s my all time record of pins put up before they are smacked down. Actually, one of my most successful time passing activities was putting two pins up on various surfaces around the house and letting a small hand smash them down to the nearest loud surface.

I have been hit in the face with more things than I care to remember, as part of the most fun games ever invented; bullets, flat hands, books, fists,  heads and feet, to name a few.

A selection of my sons current vocabulary includes; FIRE!, bullet, shoot, kick, punch, tackle, gun and trigger. Wonderful. I am growing a well rounded, non violent sort.

Then the other day, we had a parcel delivered, with air filled plastic bags to protect the contents. Fabulous, I thought, he can jump on these and be delirious with destructive power and loud banging sounds. Would he jump on them? No, he would not. He ran crying like a little girl and hid, cowering in the corner, begging for his mummy.  Who I might say, was happily stamping on plastic bags, making loud banging noises, like a boss.

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