Once, a long time ago, my mother told me a story from her childhood.
The story was a typical one… of summer evenings, children, family and neighbors. She said that there was one particular house in the neighborhood where all the children played... you know the house, perhaps you are that house, where the kids all seem to gather and everyone is having fun and the parents are “cool” Or maybe not so great but the toys are awesome, but usually the parents are cool and fun and relaxed.
My mother told me these things many years ago – long before I had children of my own, when I was one of a family of girls, when I played dress up and dolls – that she had observed that “boy” moms were more fun. That when you played over at a friend’s house where there were only girls the house was cleaner, quieter, calmer and the mom a little more stressed and frantic in the face of dirt. Now, I am not criticizing all those “girl” moms out there, I know there are plenty of you who are just as fun and crazy, hunt, fish, camp, and generally play around in the dirt as much as boys. But, we’re dealing in generalities here… generally, my mom said, boy moms are more fun and how she had always wanted to be one, or have one.
Now my sister, tom-boy that she was, being 5½ years older than me started off our family grandchildren and had back to back girls. Two of them - frilly, girly, quiet, calm, sweet girls. Fun, but quiet. And my family settled down into being a girl family. Here we were, two girls, now two granddaughters, besides Dad and my brother-in-law, John, the only male around was the main barn cat and my dog.
Now, for those of you who have read any of my other postings, or have even noticed the pictures on this posting, you know I have boys, lots and lots of boys. Well, 3 to be precise, that I'm legally and financially responsible for that is... the number that actually seem to be physically present at my dinner table or stacked like cord wood in sleeping bags magically increases exponentially in the summer or on weekends.
My first, Ethan, was quiet and calm, the typical first-born pleaser. Afraid of pain and failure he took his time learning everything and certainly never did anything that would remotely be considered daring or dangerous… at least until he was 13 and sheered off a front tooth trying to “jump” a ditch, but I digress… I have to be honest with you, with just one I really couldn’t see what the “boy mom” hype was about. Then we had Kelley.
Kelley doesn’t do anything half-way. He has no fear, no hesitancy and “can’t”, “shouldn’t” and “impossible” are not in his vocabulary, has a competitive streak a mile-wide and has 1 speed - Mach 5, 150%, full steam ahead. If children came equipped with a gage or meter he would operate in the red zone.... the far, deep red, the place where steam and flames are shooting out from under the car hood.
When he was 14-months old he followed Ethan up the ladder of the slide. Kelley climbed up, and ran down the slide... or more accurately, stepped, rolled, tumbled, fell, crashed and landed face-first into the dirt. There was dirt up his nose, in his eyes, in his hair. Before I could catch my breath - or launch myself up from the grass to rush to his aid - he jumped up and ran around to climb again.
When my heart had returned to a normal cadence I called my mother…. Mom… (hey sweetheart) I figured it out… (what’s that dear) Why boy moms are more fun… it’s not that they’re any more fun really, but it has occurred to me (then 27) that boy moms have realized that if they want to survive to reach the age of 40, and have any other color hair than white when they get there, they have to let it go. Shrug, breath deeply, invest in a pair of ear plugs, and keep a good stock of band-aids, tourniquets, ice packs and snacks within easy reach.
Boy moms keep the following things in mass quantities and dole out liberally: popsicles, hot chocolate, cookies, chips, pizza, cereal, chocolate, milk, balls – all kinds, footballs, soccer balls, baseballs, golf balls, bocce balls – guns – again all kinds, squirt guns, nerf guns, disc guns, paint ball guns, air soft guns, pretend to shoot guns, cap guns, wooden guns and real life hunting guns like pump shot guns and double barrel shot guns and black powder guns.
They always have at least 2 first aid kits handy and packed, one for the car and one for the house. They don’t respond to anything, unless it is loud enough to be heard over the ever-present stereo blasting rock music, involves a siren or a neighbor, lasts longer than 60 seconds or is accompanied by a thud and silence.
Every child is welcome, because the volume created by 2 boys is so great that any additional children are like adding a cup of water to the ocean. By the same consideration, 1 teenage boy can consume a large box of cereal or macaroni and cheese as a snack so boy moms have tons of food. Quantities prepared for dinner are so large to feed these bottomless pits that what is a few more to dinner? Don’t bother increasing the veggies for the children’s guests, they won’t eat them anyway, just double the meat and add a few more bags of chips for snack.
My dubiously sage advice, if you are a new boy mom, befriend a boy mom of teenagers and visit their house… ask to take a peek in their pantry, they’ll let you I promise, awareness is the key here….but take a deep breath first.
Girl moms? Don’t go, don’t ask, don’t look… just sit back, listen to the silence of girls playing dolls or tea party and enjoy a cup of tea…
and perhaps invite a boy mom friend to join you – they need it.
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