Like many mothers of young boys, Linda Marie Ford could use a little more sugar, spice, and everything nice in her life, and a little less snakes, snails, and puppy dog tails. As the lone female in a household where testosterone reigns, it's not unusual for her to find a critter collection in an underwear drawer, Legos in the washing machine, or her youngest son sobbing after getting caught in the crossfire of a living-room dodgeball game.

Of course, Ford realized she was stuck with this gender imbalance. But instead of ruing it, she decided to celebrate it -- royally. One day, the 39-year-old mother of Tim, 11, Matthew, 7, and Christopher, 2, decided to don a tiara and pronounced herself, "Her Royal Highness, the Queen of Lakewood," referencing her Dallas neighborhood. Somehow, with the crown atop her head, she found that the running, jumping, shouting, farting, and belching of her boys bothered her less. And while wearing the bejeweled headpiece did little to change their behavior, it did confer a kind of royal authority. "Wearing it was a sneaky way of reminding the boys not to mess with Mom," Ford says.

Then one day in the spring of 2002, while pondering the state of her monarchy, it dawned on Ford: Why not expand her royal family? And so the part-time actress set out to form a networking group to unite mothers lost in the wild world of testosterone. Dubbed "It's Good to Be the Queen," her group is premised on the idea that mothers of boys should rejoice in being the only lasses in the castle (though in her gracious queenly manner, Ford doesn't exclude moms who also have daughters).

"It started as a lark," says Ford, who sent out invitations to moms of boys she knew from play groups and her kids' school, stocked up on tiaras, and hosted the first queen mixer in April 2002. Tim and Matthew manned the makeshift red carpet (really a plastic tablecloth), regally draped over the sidewalk, and announced each guest's name as she arrived at the party. Ford crowned the 18 attendees with tiaras.

At first the queens felt a tad silly wearing the silver-sequined headgear, but Ford told them that it was a reminder to "embrace each day's challenges with feminine benevolence." Then the queens got down to the important work of sharing their tales of woe. Over dainty sandwiches and cups of tea, they engaged in a hilarious game of Top This. Deborah Regan, 40, a periodontist, told the other queens of her sons' cockroach-breeding experiments. Regan also recounted her boys' morning battles with aliens and regular peeing contests. The other queens were amused.

At another gathering, Jennifer Flippo, 35, a nurse practitioner raised in a family of daughters, admitted that at times she felt inept raising her sons, Cameron, 7, and Travis, 2. She quickly found reassurance. "When I told the queens that I was frustrated because I couldn't stop my boys from mimicking wrestling champions, the veteran moms saw it for what it was: 'a boy thing.' Just like that I was absolved of all responsibility," Flippo says. "I love these women!"