Today, I was watching my kids play outside. Sweet Annie was in the warm living room squealing about the doll that her Aunt Katie gave her for Christmas, but the boys...the boys...they were hamming it up in the snow. And they were incredible.
I watched them...really watched them, and I saw that great big vein in Patrick's forehead pop out when he laughed so hard, I thought he would stroke. I saw the intensity in Hatch's face when he was determined to ride his bike in the snow. I saw the flash of Leo's eyes when he saw that snowball coming and ducked. I saw the tears form when he wasn't fast enough. I saw the tears on Patrick's face when he realized what he did. I saw the boys. I saw them as boys. And it was amazing.
These boys aren't just little guys I manage. They feel things I don't control. They do things I don't want them to do. They are creative and intuitive and clever and sensitive. They are all these things I never thought they would be. Because I never taught them that. But they are because they are, which is even more impressive.
I love being the mother of boys. Even now, having a daughter, I really appreciate the difference between the two (although her uniquity and beauty is also in a class of its own.) Boys are pretty straight-forward and their needs are fairly basic, but they aren't always as simple and easy-to-raise as one might lead you to believe. Sometimes, they really are complex. (Now, they give love and affection without stipulation or reservation, and, for that, I am grateful.)
Being the mother of boys: it means knowing they will get hurt and finding peace with that. It means giving them the freedom to explore and to learn and not pushing your own limits on them. It means understanding that the penis is probably going to be their favorite toy...from toddlers to adults. (And it means being comfortable saying the word "penis" at least five times a day.) It means appreciating the beauty that they are. They aren't pearls and tutus, but raw, loving, explorative beauty and that is kind of wonderful. They. Are. Magical. Seriously. If you think about the amount of self-control we require from our boys, you have to agree with me on that.
Boys...my boys...all boys. They are incredible little people. They are smelly and gross and way too concerned with who will be tackled next, but there aren't better people I want to raise. Or, to be fair, better people I sometimes want to tackle myself.
If I could freeze you right now, just this way, I would. Stay good, sweet boys. Stay good.
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