I grew up with 2 sisters. We played, we fought, we loved, and we taunted the pants off of each other. At no time during my childhood do I remember wrestling matches. Maybe a little tussle on the floor or something, but nothing of the magnitude that I see in various rooms of my house on a DAILY basis.
Good GOD do my boys like to wrestle. And they like to wrestle anywhere…on the family room floor, on a bed, in the van, in the backyard, on the kitchen floor in front of the stove while I am trying to make dinner.One time I even had to referee a cage match while Jake was on the toilet. Seriously. IT.NEVER.ENDS.
The time of day doesn’t matter, either. Although, I have come to more readily predict who has started the match by the time of day…Cole is definitely the instigator in the afternoons. I think after his nap he has limitless bounds of energy. Jake calls for a smack-down post-dinner. His preferred style is shirtless, and to attack an unsuspecting younger brother while he is vulnerable with a full belly. Tate usually starts his matches right before dinner..when the stress of the day is done and he can unload all of his sensory goodness on the 2 kids he knows will mostly tolerate him.
I have been assured that this is normal. That all boys wrestle. It’s apparently as much a part of their DNA as the color of their hair or the print of their thumbs. And that gives me comfort. With all of the a-typical stuff that is in our lives, I relish in the fact that on some level, however small, my boys are typical. And it makes me smile.