There is a difference in boys and girls, and it is apparent from the moment when they wake. There is nothing quiet about my boys. Their sounds and movement are made known the instant that they rise. They sleep in the same room, and when one stirs, they ensure the other is not far behind. When they go to the bathroom, it is with a haste and violence that echoes through the home. Toilet lids slam, streams strike like small arms fire off an armored position, high volume suppression having no consequential effect.
Then there is maneuver. The second moves as the first suppresses. There is a short break in fire as they exchange positions before the target is again suppressed, and thundering feet race back to their room or out to me.
There is need for logistical support to continue their assault: “I’m hungry!…I need food!…I’m thirsty!”
It is a battle. The day has just begun, and as the boys engage full in their advance, the girls lie—unaffected and unaware to the violence of little boy’s worlds—sweetly in their dreams.