Seven X's and a Y

I live with three females.

Dare I go on?

I think I can. I think I've earned the right. Besides...they can all yell at me later after they've read this.

All except for my wife. I think she has a fair understanding of how I feel. I think she knows as well as I do what goes on around here. And if I'm rocking the boat, then she'll just push my ass out anyway.

My girls fight a lot. Almost every day. That's 365 days a year, give or take a week. But that's not what's bothering me. That's not what this is about. The truth of the matter is I've grown used to their pre-adolescent behavior. I will probably even miss it. I will probably miss it very much. I think what's bothering me is what's coming. My girls are growing up.

My girls are angels. At night I hear their voices bouncing off the walls as they move from room to room. Small shadows race up and down the staircase, sometimes catching two steps at a time. Gales of laughter following them. Their laughter is like music. It sounds like wind chimes and stringed instruments mixed together. The oldest has a laugh that is contagious and it will melt your heart, while the youngest has an inner strength all of her own. It is a force of will and determination. Together they bring about a crescendo of noise. Generally it happens after they've gone upstairs to bed. And as I take up a position to clear my lungs and holler up at them, my wife will look at me and quietly remind me, "We have thin walls you know? They're just playing."

And so with head bowed and sometimes a feeling of defeat, I'll say, "I know."

Living with three females is a talent. It requires walking around with my head down or my eyes closed, because apparently none of them knows how to close a bathroom door. Ever. I suppose this will all change. Eventually they will want their privacy. They will require it. And for some reason I can already see my own bathroom disappearing. Maybe not completely, but things will change. New stuff will start to appear. Shampoo. Lotion. The filmy glossy stuff the girls like to put on. Makeup. I've seen it happen before. When no one's looking I remove it and slip it back into 'the girls-only bathroom'.

I suppose I should be thankful. It's been nice while it lasted.

I am thankful that my wife has been generous enough to let me have our master bathroom. I am thankful that the girls have been kind enough to leave my stuff alone. Sometimes -- when I let my hair grow out -- a comb or brush will go missing, but that is a small price to pay to have long hair.

Sometimes I grow weary in the dead of the night. A big storm is coming. Venus and Mars will move and a hormonal battle of estrogen and testosterone will wage war within these walls and nothing can prevent it. It is inevitable. I will miss my girls when that happens -- the little people they once were. I have no illusions of what will come. Moods will change. Tempers will fly. Tears will fall. It will be me. It will be my wife. It will be my girls -- my teenage girls.

Not now, not tomorrow, but fairly soon.