The Joys of Boys

Boys! Boys! Boys!

When I was a teenager all I ever thought about were boys. When I read my old journals I can't believe how so much of my time was consumed with thoughts of boys. It's crazy how I could have so many "crushes" and how each passing day was only measured by who had looked at or talked to me that day and whether or not they could possibly be interested in dating me.

Now, 20 years later my days are still consumed by boys, but instead of dating them I am cleaning up after them, chasing them around and settling their arguments, all while trying to maintain some semblance of order in my household.

Anyone who knows me knows that I wanted a little girl. I wanted pink dresses and bows and hats and gloves. There have been many times that I've been sure God was playing a cruel joke on me. I even remember during pre-marital counseling when I was very adamant about how I would want my children to be raised and the pastor laughingly commented that I would probably have all male children. I was still determined that even if I had boys they would be gentlemen and have respect and be well behaved.

Now I clean pee from around every toilet in my house because no one can aim. I hear myself saying things like, "Do not jump from the top of that slide with your eyes closed, stop hitting your brother with a mallet, don't scratch there in public and do not put your naked hiney on my kitchen counter top."

Sometimes when we are out somewhere and they are running and jumping and climbing, I'll look over and see a little girl calmly holding her parent's hand, stopping to look at flowers or sitting and coloring a picture. I'll sigh.

But then my boys will call out, "Mom, come look! See how fast I can run, how far I can climb, how hard I can kick the ball...watch me beat this level, ride down the hill without training wheels, take this apart and then put it back together all by myself (or mostly together except for this part that wouldn't fit, wait, you didn't need this did you?)"

I have watched them in complete fascination and my heart is filled with an immense joy. I have been tearful as they have refused hugs and kisses in public because it's too embarrassing. I have been proud when I've seen them make the winning goal but also when I've witnessed them fall and get right back up again with determination. They are fiercely competitive, incredibly talented, full of energy, persistent, intelligent, creative, strong, fearless and best of all, the precious little boys that God did not make a mistake when He gave to me.

So there is no pink in my house and I continue to patch holes in jeans, clean off muddy shoes and argue with them about taking baths and remembering to wear underwear. I have learned to accept the grass stains and the constant noises and smells that emit from their bodies. They have challenged me and made me a better person. My Barbie dolls will have to stay in their boxes in the attic. Maybe they will go to my future granddaughters.

Or maybe I will give them to my future grandsons so they can rip off their heads and use them as swords.

I will probably still sigh...and then shake my head with a smile and join right in. En garde.

Tag, You're It

I have 2 little boys playing with my 2 at our house today and they have been such a joy! It always seems that when you add some other children to the mix, it makes your own children get along better for the day. We ordered pizza for lunch and then for snack I made it a real party by giving them orange juice instead of water!

After they submerged from the video game vortex (or actually when I dragged them out screaming) we decided on a game of tag. Being the mother of boys, I am smart enough to have nothing breakable in the rooms of my home. I also have older furniture. I like to think of it as child proofing, rather than that I am just cheap (except for the dining room which we gate off as the "museum room".) So tag is pretty much a free-for-all of running throughout my house. We had deemed the couch as "base" which makes for a softer landing when one dives onto it as opposed to the stairs or the fireplace. When my youngest son was tagged "it" he declared that the love seat was another base. I refereed telling him that only the couch was base and he was indeed "it". He kept arguing his case when I pulled out the whammy:

"Well, I'm the mother and this is my house and I said that only the couch is base so you're it!"

I followed it up with the appropriate, "Neener-neener-neener!"

Some may call this type of behavior from the adult of the house ludicrous. I call it just plain fun. Although I did realize that I should probably apologize and be a better example. So I of course called a "time out."

Whose father has an apple tree anyway? And why do we have to get off it?

Anyway, it was a fun day.

"Time in."