The First 40 Years of Childhood Are the Hardest For A Man. The Second 40 Just Fly By...

There’s a saying that perfectly sums up the entire male existence: “The first 40 years of childhood are the hardest for a man. The second 40 somehow fly by.” Honestly, I couldn’t have put it better myself.

Because let’s face it — men are just bigger children with more expensive toys. Isn't that true? The difference between a 7-year-old boy and a 43-year-old man? The size of the box where the toys arrives in. And the price tag, which usually gives me mild heart palpitations or headache.

Welcome to the Meteorological Age

At some point, some men go into what I call the meteorological phase of life:

Precipitation ahead.

Winds behind.

And eventually they end up like wise old millers, sitting on a sack, pulling on their belt (and, let's be honest, occasionally scratching the non-itchy part. Sometimes in the front, sometimes in the back).

But no matter how much time passes, there is one thing that remains eternal:

A fascination with TRAINS. Old, new, small or large. It doesn't matter.

Yes, the humble train. Whether you travel by train ("Look! Look how fast it goes! Look!") or he buys another set of narrow-gauge models that will take up half the living room, the enthusiasm is real. He might bring home one of those fancy Shinkansen models from Japan, and it's like watching a child unwrap the biggest present under the Christmas tree. Eyes wide open, hands shaking slightly with excitement, a modest smile on his face, and your partner in the background thinking: "Where are we going to hide this?"

Remote-Controlled Everything

Of course, the train obsession is just the appetizer. Then come the remote-controlled toys — and here, the possibilities are endless. Trains aren’t enough. Oh no. We need helicopters, drones, boats, RC cars, a little cars-big cars, Lego Technic sets with more pieces than atoms in the universe.

And the grand finale must have: The Remote-Controlled Excavator. Yes, you read that right. A fully functional excavator that connects via phone. Suddenly, your husband is out in the garden or on the beach, happily digging holes like a golden retriever on espresso or two. The best part? He’s fully occupied for a solid two hours. You can read your book. It’s like having a free babysitter (without boobies) for your grown man. Although — just like with little kids — you do hear occasional shouts: "Look! Are you looking? Hey! Look what it can do! Woo-hoo" Yes, honey. I see. Very impressive. Wow. Can you now dig a hole big enough to bury the growing pile of gadgets in our house? Please.

The Art of Extreme Stupidity

Then there are the “adult-only” holidays.

You imagine candlelit dinners, spa treatments, long beach walks… and what do you get?

A group of fully grown men inventing extremely stupid games.

The ultimate favorite:

The Bomb Jump into the Pool Contest. "We jump like the penguin. Who can walk on the water the longest? Do a somersault. Panties down, we show the whole moon". and of course "Look, honey Look!".

The most two popular challenges:

Who will create the biggest, highest, huge splash?

Who can displace half the pool’s water in one heroic jump?

The louder the splash, the bigger the victory. Ladies give points: 8 points for quickly jumping out of the pool threshold. 10 points for spraying the most complaining couple of this vacation with water. Bonus points if other foreign holidaymakers laughed. Romance? Forget it. It’s basically an Olympic event for overgrown boys. The loser goes to the bar for drinks.

Camouflage and Walkie-Talkies

And then there's the forest/field expeditions. The moment they put on camouflage outfits, grab their walkie-talkies "Eagle One to Eagle Two, do you copy?" "Affirmative, over.", and start acting like they’re part of some elite military squad, I have to bite my lip not to laugh "Hey Rambo, do you need a headband?". Meanwhile, they’re hiding behind a bush that doesn't even cover half of their backsides.

The only thing they’re missing is face paint and night vision goggles. But let’s be honest — the night missions usually fail because by 9 p.m., the entire squad is already in bed snoring, exhausted from their day-long adventure. Oh, my sweet boys.

Hey Rambo

New Gadgets = Happy Boy

Every time my husband buys a new gadget, I see that familiar sparkle in his eyes. That pure, innocent joy. That tiny voice inside him shouting: "NEW TOY! MY TREASURE! YAY!" And you know what? It’s kind of adorable.

On one hand, I love that something can bring him such happiness. On the other hand, I know I’ll be hearing about this new toy nonstop for the next few days. There will be tutorials, test runs, photos, videos, comparisons, “Hey, listen to this motor!” and again the same "LOOK!". Demonstrations…And eventually, another gadget added to the growing collection on the shelf, wardrobe, draw. You know that places in your house — the one that’s starting to look like an electronics museum.

But hey — when it comes time for any occasion that requires a gift? Easy-peasy. Buy him anything that lights up, spins, flies, makes noise, or connects to Wi-Fi. Done. Happiness guaranteed, trust me.

65cm Lego man who can hold his Xbox controller.

Boys Will Be Boys. Forever.

At the end of the day, I wouldn’t want it any other way. Because inside every man, there’s still that curious little boy who gets excited about shiny things, who loves to build, break, test, and play. And let’s be honest — we ladies benefit from this too. There is a piece of a child in each of us, but men have a slightly bigger element.

So let them have their toys. Let them jump in the pool like human cannonballs. Let them dig holes in the garden with their remote-controlled excavators. As long as they’re happy, entertained, and still give us that adorable "Are you looking?!" face, I say — play on, my dear boys, play on. I will buy another book for myself.

How about you? Do you have a “big child” at home too?

Share your stories in the comments — let’s laugh together!

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