The Beginning of Boys

Ten years ago, when I first became a mom, I had this grandiose idea about how it would be to raise a boy and how kind, polite, and ever gracious he would become. Then, a few years later, I had another son and those grandiose ideas began to fade into temper tantrums and dirty hands.   I soon realized I had gotten myself into a bit of a predicament. I became the only female in a household of males and I am now outnumbered four-to-one.

Between my husband, two sons, and pug named Vader is me, the ‘Lone Ranger’ of sorts.  There are no chick-flick movie nights at my house. Football, action movies, or obnoxious cartoons reign supreme in our home.   Shopping has become a time trial. If I don’t find what I am looking for within fifteen minutes or so I am immediately penalized and given the “are you done yet?” penalty flag.  Dinner doesn’t happen at a certain time like it used to, now it is between basketball practice and wrestling practice.  If I tell my guys I want to spend some quality time with them it usually involves staring at the back of their head while they play a video game as we chat about life (I still don’t understand the ‘wow’ factor of Minecraft).

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. Life in the man cave is certainly an adventure and, as with anything in life, it has its way of teaching me a lot of necessary life skills. I have become the master at hiding in random spots in order to scare the living daylights out of my unsuspecting sons or husband.  I now know that a first down is good and a loss of yards is bad.  Also, I have learned that I was probably supposed to raise boys, because I have always been a tomboy and I probably would have turned my daughter into one as well.  

This last lesson I didn’t even know I was learning until one day when I was playing outside with my sons.  We were playing pass with the football in the middle of our street (we really don’t have any traffic so it should be considered more a cement yard than a street) and my oldest son asked me to throw it as far as I could. I sent that ball flying well beyond where they thought I would. My neighbor pointed out that I had a “good arm” and I saw my sons smile at this compliment.  I knew at that moment I was right where I belonged.  I was supposed to be a mom to two sons.  I was supposed to be decorating the man cave as well as throwing a perfect spiral pass to an eight year-old little boy that looks like me (the boy version that is).  All those years of feeling like my tomboy ways were nothing but a character flaw turned out to be just the training I needed to survive the man cave.

I’m sure my sons already knew I was awesome, but I needed that moment in order to solidify my place in the cave. I needed to prove that I could be just as rough and tough as they could.  Even though there are times when I struggle with losing myself in the cave, I still have to hold my own.  As a parent, this is a challenge we all must face. We all need to let them know what exactly our place is in the family hierarchy, which has been difficult at times in a house of guys. Sometimes, I feel like the family pet being dragged around on a leash. I attend every sporting event and sit on the sidelines cheering, but I secretly want to coach the team, not just sit outside of the fence with all of the other moms.  I bet if all of those soccer-basketball-football-baseball moms got together and decided they were taking over the boys youth coaching industry the whole balance of things (in men’s eyes) would be thrown off.  When a child fell, instead of coach yelling “shake it off” a mom would be rushing the field ready with hugs, encouragement, and a box of band-aids. There are those moms who are already taking the bull by the horns and coach their son’s teams. I applaud these women for going above and beyond and encourage more women to get involved with their sons activities. 

I have to admit, as much as I would love to trade places for a day with a mom who has daughters, I can’t imagine spending my days any other way. Even though there are times when I feel like the housekeeper more than I feel like the mom, I know these tiny little people I call my children need me in their lives in order to show them how to someday treat their wives.  I have already promised them I will make plenty of mistakes, because that is what parents are supposed to do. I hope I do right by them, but a part of me wonders if there are lessons I may be forgetting. So I’m going to leave you with this, as parents what is the one lesson you have learned from your children or one you have made sure you have taught your children?  Tell your kids you’re glad that they are yours!