After having a fifteen year old son, along with two year old male twins, I’m not sure anything really surprises me anymore.  I live in a house that reeks of testosterone.  It’s like a thick (think Pig Pen from Charlie Brown) cloud surrounding my home.  There is a lot of sweat, dirt, fistfights (just my 2 year olds against each other, and nothing interesting, like in a ring for bets or anything), and video games.

I’m the only female in my home.  Other than the twins, because that’s what toddlers do, I’m the only one that cries when I’m upset and frustrated.  The menfolk take it personally.  If I had an on/off button, I would push it permanently to off, because the mere sight of that salty water leaking out of my eyes causes a panic that only a Zombie Apocalypse, Godzilla, and a Justin Bieber concert can rival.

Luckily for them, I like guy stuff. Chick flicks? Don’t let the door hit you on your big box of Kleenex on the way out.  I want explosions, violence, monsters, chase scenes, and improbable Jason Statham endings.  Video games? Mortal Kombat and God of War.  Books?  The creepier the better.  I don’t mind channeling my inner dude to have fun.  Besides, if I didn’t, I’d be one lonely woman sitting all by myself watching Meryl Streep movies while my husband and children hid in the farthest point possible so as not to hear me weep.

So, I know what I half expected to see under my fifteen year old’s pillow when I went to wash his sheets today.  He is, after all, a teenager, on the cusp of a driver’s permit and his first hit and run.  While I hoped to not find anything, I assumed if I did, it would be in the form of a magazine.  What I found made my head involuntarily cock to the right, and I gave a little : “Hm”.  I was NOT expecting this.  Here, I’ll show you.

 Yes, it’s a sword.  Under his pillow.  Now I knew he had it, because we bought it for him.  But honestly it’s the last thing I thought I would find under his pillows.  Unfortunately he’s in school, so while I’m dying to ask why this particular item was under there, I’m going to have to let my imagination run amok.

Is he afraid at night?  Is this the new bat by the bed for an intruder?  Does he think we will be attacked by a ninja, a Highlander (there can be only one, you know), or Last Samurai Tom Cruise?  Does he fancy himself a sword wielder come to save the day from those four months of fencing lessons I bought him three years ago?

Inquiring minds really, really want to know.  I’m not going to count on him to protect me with that, though.  It took me a few minutes just to wrestle that thing out of its sheath. By the time he was armed the safe would be opened, the kids sold on the black market, and I’d just be waking up in an ice bath looking for my kidney.