Sugar and Spice
My brother Lou always says that there is never a problem knowing where our girls are playing. The exact location is easily detected by simply listening for the source of the screaming.
It is a fool-proof system, really. Wherever our young female charges are gathered together, there are sure to be some high-pitched verbal cues within their vicinity. As sure as the sun will rise every morning, we can rely on the signature screams of little girls at play.
Boys, on the other hand, tend to keep the sound level of their adventures more discreet. Discerning their exact location is not always as readily obtainable, as it seems that they would prefer their activities to remain a mystery.
Not much changes once we grow up.
Most big boys are often as verbally deficient as big girls are expressive. The pleasure of having married a big boy and raising a son offers an ongoing opportunity to acquire a minimal set of communication skills. I had some fun writing about this topic in a post titled, “What Is That Smell?”
It would appear that a variation of ’screaming’ remains a common element of female energy, often rearing its abrasive characteristics throughout the many hormonal stages of maturity. Female energy may indeed contain plenty of sugar, but it is the spice component that commands the most attention. Many a poor and unfortunate soul have suffered the wrath of a woman scorned.
Undoubtedly fanning the hormonal flames of her early teenage years, we used to refer to Katarina as “Katie-Kaboom.” After an initial attempt to playfully mention this nickname in her presence, we agreed to keep this description of Kat’s explosive behavior to ourselves. It became a lot less stressful to just wink and nod to each other. We preferred to huddle behind the bunkers every time Kat was in one of her heinous-bitch moods, since initiating some form of sane communication was futile.
I remember having to calculate the appropriate time to approach Kat. I seized every opportunity to offer her guidance toward understanding her volatile moods, and made suggestions in order to deal with them. Of course, she welcomed these conversations about as much as she liked going to the dentist. When Durwood grew weary of her tirades, he decided to remove the hinges from her bedroom door one day while she was at school.
“Let her try and slam that damn door now,” he proclaimed.
This tactic may have delayed our progress toward understanding and compassion for teenage angst in the Bean household, but it did serve to improve Durwood’s position in the power struggle.
Natalie is sixteen now, and I am happy to report that her bedroom door remains on its hinges. She definitely has her share of Katie-Kaboom moments, but the level of progress in the Bean domain appears to have advanced considerably.
With a compassionate smile and a nod of understanding, our twenty-two year old Kat will catch my attention during one of Natalie’s tempestuous outbursts. With complete awareness, she will offer her most sincere condolences:
“For the love of god, Mom, I am sooo sorry…”
And may the female energy rage on:)
