I'm beginning to believe God specifically chose me to be a boy mom, and it's not just because I can't put hair in a ponytail to save my life. I think it probably has more to do with my love of sports than anything else. My love of playing them, watching them, and reading about them is actually how I landed Alex.
When we first started dating, I had a subscription to Sports Illustrated. Originally, I subscribed to the magazine so I could take it to school, as it was the only thing guys would willingly read during silent reading. Alex was really impressed with my subscription, so much so, that he would use it as my claim to fame when he introduced me to his friends. I kid you not, he'd excitedly exclaim, "This is Katherine; she has a subscription to Sports Illustrated." Seriously? That's why you like me? I mean, couldn't he have at least included an adjective in there like brilliant, kind, funny, hot, sexy, humble?
Several of my friends have recently entered the world of boys, either through childbirth, dating a dad of boys, or adoption, and they have all looked at me and said the same thing: "I don't know what to do with a boy." Let me tell you, there are really only two things you need to do: One, point everything down when you change a diaper, and two, love him just like you would a girl.
About a week ago, one of these new moms wrote me a thank you note that ended with the line, "Please make all of your future blogs revolve around how to raise Godly sons." Talk about pressure! That is a huge task, one that I'm not qualified to undertake in any way, shape, or form. But while I may feel totally unable to meet that specific request, I do have a few insights about boys that might be helpful for her to understand as she embarks on this new adventure.
Observation 1: Every object can become a sword and that "Vrrroom, vrroom" sound is genetic.
I know using the word "every" may seem like an exaggeration, but trust me, it's not. Boys can turn into Zoro wannabes in the blink of an eye, all it takes is a crayon, a straw, a stick, or a toothbrush. And those are just the normal swords . . . my boys have been known to get inventive as well. Last spring, I walked out of the bathroom to find the boys sword fighting--Jackson with a mailing tube and Reeves with my graduate school diploma that had come rolled up in it. While I could appreciate their creativity and resourcefulness, Mama worked too hard to let that battle continue.
Every parent tries to encourage their child's language development. We gaze into their eyes, repeating "Mama" and "Dada," making sure to enunciate each syllable. Then we move onto things like "dog," "ball," and "book." Eventually, with enough practice, our bundles of joy say that first word, and we start filling out college applications. I have a friend who told me to make sure the boys' first word was "Dada," that way when they woke up in the middle of the night, that's all they would be able to say, so Alex would have to be the one to get out of the warm bed and go help. Pure genius!
But one aspect of language development needs absolutely no coaching whatsoever, and that's the "vrroom, vrroom" sound every single boy knows how to make when he sees a car. I really have no idea how my boys knew to do this. If Alex drove some suped-up Corvette that didn't have a muffler or revved his engine in the driveway, I'd understand how they knew a car could sound like that, but we drive Hondas straight from the factory, no modifications whatsoever. Regardless, from the time they could roll a Matchbox car across the carpet, they knew the noise to make with it. Kinda makes me wonder how Alex drives when I'm not around.
Observation 2: Boys are biologically programmed to wrestle.
Last Saturday, we had two sweet little girls over to play while their mama went to the hospital to deliver their baby brother. Everything was going well--everybody was either painting or coloring, when all of a sudden, the girls and I looked over to see Jackson and Reeves grunting and growling, rolling around the kitchen floor, embraced in either a hug or a headlock, depending on which one of them you asked. One of the girls looked at me, her eyes as big as saucers, and fearfully asked, "Is my brother going to be like that?" Poor thing, I think we scarred her for life. I told her if she wanted to know if her brother would wrestle that much, then the answer was probably no since he didn't have a brother to feed off of. However, if she wanted to know if her brother would be rougher and louder than she was, the answer was a resounding yes.
I don't know why, but boys just need to move more than girls do. Girls can entertain themselves for hours by quietly playing baby dolls or doing arts and crafts. Reeves can build with blocks for hours, but every once in awhile, he's going to stand up, roar, and trample his tower with the same delight and zeal Godzilla had when he took Tokyo. Jackson is the same way- he can entertain himself for hours, but it's by throwing an invisible football up in the air, catching it, and running the length of the room for a touchdown. He whispers the score to himself and then turns right around and heads for the other end zone. Quiet, yes. Still, not so much. Neither way to play is right or wrong, they're just different. As a parent (and as teacher), I've figured out that if I can channel all of that energy the right way, we can really have a lot of fun.
Observation 3: Pants are optional.
Alex and I love watching The Goldbergs every Wednesday night. The dad in the show, Murray, is known for dropping his pants as soon as he gets home from work and then relaxing in his chair in his button down shirt and tighty whities (Seriously, I can never remember if it's whitie tighties or tighty whities!). Evidently, this habit is not limited to fictional TV characters.
My boys love to run around in as little as possible. Inside. Outside. Warm weather. Cold weather. It really doesn't matter. The boys strip down as soon as we get home from school and refuse to put on pants until it's time to go back. I've had to apologize to babysitters, friends, and even the occasional pizza delivery man for their lack of clothing.
The good news is if they ever decide to remake Risky Business, I have two boys ready to slide into Tom Cruise's role in nothing but their underwear and sunglasses.
Observation 4: Toots are hilarious.
This is the one I seriously can't wrap my head around. A girl would be mortified if she tooted in front of a boy, but from birth until death, boys find flatulence funny. Companies like Disney and Pixar know this to be true and include some sort of bathroom humor in every kids movie they make. I asked three different males of varying ages why toots are so funny, and all three immediately broke into giggles. Y'all, one of them is 43! None of the guys could explain this enigma, although they did all say it must have to do with the funny noises that often accompany the gas. As inexplicable as the reason may be, the bottom line (no pun intended) is that little boys think toots are hilarious. And when they manage to sneeze and toot at the same time, as they no doubt will, it's even funnier.
Observation 5: Boys love their mamas.
Before Jackson was born, I was certain that I was having a girl. I was so certain, in fact, that I went so far as to buy an adorable girl outfit at Target because I was worried it would be gone by the time I had my ultrasound. I may have been suffering from a slight case of cart before the horse syndrome. When the ultrasound tech revealed the baby was a boy, all I could do was mumble, "I guess I have to return some things to Target." Alex, the ultrasound tech, and eventually the salesclerk at Target all looked at me like I had lost my mind when I told them about my little shopping spree. Who does that? Who buys gender-specific clothes before they find out the gender of their baby? Oh, that would be this girl.
The one thing that other boy moms kept telling me was that boys love their mamas, and man, were they right. My boys always want to snuggle or hold my hand, and they love making me things and showering me with gifts of rocks and dandelions. They are super protective of me, always asking if a have a boo-boo or if I need a Diet Coke. They share things with me that they won't share with each other or with Alex. And even though they do call out "Dada" in the middle of the night, their first question for him is always, "Where's Mommy?"
I know there are plenty of other boy truths out there, but I'm kind of a stickler for things to end in five or zero, and since I couldn't make my list all the way to 10, I had to stop at 5. If you're the mama of a boy, I'd love to hear your theories. Or, better yet, if you're a guy who can explain one of these phenomena, please fill us in. Inquiring minds want to know!
In the end, I can't promise that I'll ever be able to give good advice on raising Godly sons, but I do know that when you snuggle a newborn swaddled in blue, or when you watch that three year old sleeping peacefully in his dinosaur pajamas, or even when you indulge that five year old who stumbled into your bathroom early in the morning in nothing but a T-shirt and his Spider-Man undies asking for a hug . . . that's when you truly get a glimpse of God's love in the flesh.
