They smell

This is going to be one of those posts where you say to yourself, "What the hell was that all about" and in the end I will tell you so don't get your panties in a bunch half way through. This is probably something you don't want to hear but I'm going to share anyway because I think Moms of little ones, boys in particular, will appreciate it.

When my boys were little I realized that they had this smell to them. It was sweaty socks, potato chips and dirt all mixed together. I tried to mask it when people came to visit, I lit candles and sprayed air freshner. But, I learned to love that smell, call me crazy but I did. It's the truth. Fabreeze only masked the scent and after a while I just stopped trying to cover it up because I realized that it made me feel good. As long as my house smelled like my little boys that meant I was still blessed and nobody had taken them from me yet because I left them standing in the driveway that time. Yeah. I did it. Shoot me. I came back. What do you want from me?

So, anyway, the boys haven't been little in a long time. My youngest is damn near six foot tall and the oldest is right there with him. Did I mention they are sixteen and seventeen? I know! I was five when I had them.

I made the fancy vest...

The holidays are over and they have come home from a visit with their dad. They always show up when I have the house smelling like bleach and Mom, you know that smell. It's pot roast, cookies and fabric softener. No sign of boy at all. But as they started to unpack I realized that they didn't bring that little boy scent with them. Hang on... I need a Kleenex.

Ok. I'm alright. Where did that little boy scent go? Now it smells like hot sauce, axe body spray and sweaty socks. It's a manly smell and no matter how many scented candles and bags of potato chips I open I can't get that little boy smell back.

I want that smell back.

I can't have it though. So, in a few years they'll be moved out and I'll be left with my Mom smell again and when they visit and bring all of their dirty laundry I'll be the freak standing at the washer, crying with my face buried in one of their shirts, sniffing as if it belongs to Tom Hardy.

My point is, stop spraying fabreeze and lighting your scented candles because there is no better smell than little boy.