My blogging days with boys took a much longer hiatus that I anticipated. I am happy to be lifting my head out of the sea of testosterone and breathing in some much needed reflection on those quirky, funny guys I live with. Thanks for hanging around!
I am an artistic person. I am musically inclined and I love to write. I have a deep appreciation for art, opera, musical theater and botanical arts. I desperately wanted to pass this affection on to my sons. Not being very athletic myself, I unreasonably believed I would not be able to relate to their hopes and dreams if they only revolved around a bouncing, thrown or kicked ball. I love watching sports even if I don’t have an innate ability to participate in them, but what if they asked me questions? What would I say?? Fortunately, I have boys that enjoy both an artistic side and an athletic inclination. To my surprise neither of these things has turned out quite the way I thought they would.
While my vision of art might look like a dreamy Monet watercolor or a dramatic aria from Faust, to a teenage boy art is something only they can relate to. Wallets made of duct tape are art. Japanese origami folded into the shape of a tank, complete with removable turrets, is also art. And most recently, white board drawings of their father left in the conference room at work are, indeed, art.
It was one of those days where everyone had to be in four places at once so there was a slight layover at the office my husband and I both share with son #2. My boys absolutely hate going to our office. It’s boring. There are no video games, vending machines or tank origami to occupy their time with so the 5-10 minute wait while we tie up loose ends and grab some paperwork feels like hours. It should have raised a red flag when son #2 didn’t pipe up a bit when the 10 minute wait became 30 as my husband and I busied ourselves with what we were required to do in order to shuffle him off to the next mission on the family calendar. It wasn’t until our coworker opened the whiteboard a few days later as she met with a client that we discovered “the art”.
Notice the captions depicting the different qualities of my husband’s physique such as; “Flawlessly bald head”, “thick eye brows”, and the ever descriptive “fat” with arrows highlighting the correct anatomy. Not to mention the important conversations he has with clients on a regular basis emphasized as “blah blah blah, finances and stuff.” As luck would have it, our coworker and her client were amused and even suggested I take a picture of the whiteboard before they talked about “finances and stuff” themselves.
I also run across many other forms of art around my house like attacking marbles.
Or still life photos of lego Star Wars figurines:
And bathroom mirror selfies taken with my phone:
Who says art is lost on young men? I am constantly surrounded by it. It just looks slightly different than Monet.