Raising Boys ... on a serious note.

Above are my three boys.  They are soon to be four with the addition of their brother a mere weeks away.  There are days I pout and wonder why God saw fit to give me ONLY boys without a speck of pink in the bunch.  It's really a family joke now, there are NO grandaughters ... 10 and probably when my sister finds out what she's having, soon to be 11 grandsons.  Back to my pouting ... I saved multiple boxes of crap, china dolls, etc. from childhood in the hopes that one day I would be having this tender moments with my daughter in which I would pass down said crap.  This day has not and will never come, leaving me always feeling a little "empty" and wondering where all said crap will go when I die.  (Pray for grandaughters)

It's been 13 years since I welcomed the first boy into our crew.  Of course we were thrilled to have a baby, any flavor, but with each successive, "it's a boy!" declaration, I admit, I have felt dissapointed.  I've managed to utilize humor most days to understand the inner workings of my boy's brains and maintain some semblance of sanity.  They bang, hit, embarass me daily, and dumb everything down into a testosterone laden physical altercation rather than just holding a grudge or acting like a mean girl.  Most days, they make absolutely no sense to me and I have been known on more than once occasion to refer to my children as being utterly stupid because they are boys ... because a girl would NEVER dig holes on the side of the house and call them part of "war time efforts".  Raising little boys, growing into the awkward, awful teenage stage, (gag, cough, sputter) has remained unclear, and confusing to me ... until today. 

I'm not sure why it took me 13 years to clue in to this novel idea and maybe the reason I have all boys, I'm a slow learner perhaps, but lesson learned and maybe it will help me be a better mom grateful I have this pack of boys to love.  Drew's arrival into the world of teenagedom has not come without speed bumps.  He exasperates both Jon and I, with few moments of glimmering light at the end of the parenting tunnel.  There are days my mentality goes into survival mode and I go to bed feeling utterly dissapointed in myself thinking, "just get through it, he leaves for college soon."

But there are days ... there are days when there is a tiny little glimmer that maybe he actually likes me, and/or his Dad, and might be listening.  So far, only glimmers, until today when the light came shining through as bright as day.  Being an awkward 13 year-old boy comes with it's own self esteem challenges.  I try to be sensitive to that, and while Jon can barely control his laughter most of the time, I try to remain concerned at some of Drew's life concerns and daily antics.  (Including him now entering the world of ladies, texting all night, and learning playing hard to get is okay and a boy should make the first move, not vice versa.)  There are days, few and far between, where my son lets me be his hero just by listening.

Jon wants to raise boys, men, tough little photo copies of his maleness who think they dominate the world of romance, all sporting endeavors, and show little emotion rather concerned with just problem solving or ignoring because the sheer idea of sensitive gives him hives.  Jon is an amazing father, and his boys want to be just like him, which is great, he is amazing.  But, my newsflash lightening bulb moment of the day ... boys need a mom.

Little boys, teenagers, and grown men need a mom.  Dad might teach them to be men, but mom's teach them no matter what they have a soft place to fall where they can just be.  There is no quick judgement, no man mentality to avoid emotion and admit weakness, but a place where it's okay to just be still.  A long conversation with Drew today pointed out this very thing to me.  Sure, he's confused and awkward and drives me batty, but at the end of the day, he needs me there because my sheer existence lets him know he's okay ... and the world's okay.

Boys need a mom to sit, listen, and never be that giggly girl they fear, but that constant female presence that gently nudges them to be patient gentleman who will probably always fear the opposite sex. And hopefully one day they get to that place in life where (a mom can only hope) they find one girl who they no longer fear, but love so much they feel secure.  Until then, I get to pick them up when they are a crumbled mass of tears they don't want to show the world.  I get to put them back together and tell them its okay ... and they're okay ... and no matter how cruel and confusing the world may seem, they will always have a mom to catch them when they fall. 

I may never get to play beauty shop (unless I have a cosmetologist in the bunch, which would most likely throw their father into an early grave), and I will always question male motivation (honestly, think before you act), but never again will I feel sorry for myself that I don't have a daughter.  Somewhere along the line, I did something right.  Somewhere in my life or the life before, God saw something in me, and all mom's of boys, some sort of inner strength (and maybe sense of humor) combined with a unique gentleness He knew His sons could trust to teach them to be men.  What an amazing honor to be a Mom of boys.