Being a Mom...With Four Boys

All moms, regardless of demographics, backgrounds, religious beliefs, political views, financial status, and education, have certain things in common.  We labor over many difficult decisions regarding the care for our children.  Some days, the decisions seem endless.  Disposable vs cloth diapers, bottles vs nursing, being a scheduled mom or being a mom that takes a more laid back approach to parenting, what foods to feed her child, distinguishing between a normal cold or the flu, knowing whether that boo boo just needs a kiss, a band-aid, or stitches.  Moms are the go to person for everything.

We find the missing Lego heads and the matching socks, we spell Dinosaur for like the millionth time so they can watch a documentary about their favorite prehistoric animal on Netflix, we referee between siblings, we make sure their favorite pajamas are washed and ready to wear, we give hugs when needed and we give instruction and direction when necessary.  I imagine most moms reading this can relate and completely understand.  And although each child is different with their own little quirky things that make them special, motherhood is always the same.  Yes, mothers vary in their approaches and decisions, but ultimately, we struggle through the same experiences.  It is what bonds us.  Several moms can be standing at the playground and it's like we have our own secret language.  With just a courteous smile, a simple nod of the head, or an all-knowing wink, we are instantly somehow all on the same page.  Behind that smile is an understanding that only moms have.  This is not to say, however, that dads don't have this bond with other dads; but it's just different.  They use fist pumps, high fives, innocent competition, and so forth.  I don't want to in any way diminish the role of a dad.  They are equally as important and necessary. 

But this blog is dedicated to all the moms of boys.  I have observed many moms over the years with girls.  Things are significantly different between mom and daughter relationships and mom and son relationships.  There is usually a sweet bond where lots of talking about every single detail of the day is discussed.  Moms get invited to many tea parties and dress up sessions.  Moms and daughters share in trips to the salon for pedicures.   Girls actually enjoy shopping with their moms.  If moms have multiple daughters in the home, from what I have witnessed, quiet playtime exists.  Yes, there may be drama, some squealing and tears, but ultimately, it all settles down and harmony re-enters the room.  I rather enjoy watching the dynamics of moms with their daughters.  It is generally pleasant and refreshing. 

Then we have the other moms.  Moms like me.  Moms with only boys.  These moms, and I may be biased here, are pretty special in their own right.  Don't get mad.  ALL moms are special and deserve to be recognized and honored.  But moms with just boys are a special breed.  Mothers of boys is not for the weak, thin skinned, frail, tender-hearted, and timid moms.  Nope.  Oh sure, we can possess these traits at times because we are ladies.  But the reality of it is moms with boys need to be tough.  The house is loud....ALL the time, except for those special hours between 8:30pm and 6:30am.  Also, you might as well come to the realization that something is GOING to get broken.  We have a special emergency kit in the house.  No, I am not speaking of our normal emergency kit that includes bandages, peroxide, thermometer, etc.  Our emergency kit includes spackle, putty knife, spare paint, super glue, duct tape, nails and screws, and a miscellaneous "How to Fix It" book.  Zander was our only child for 8 years and during that time literally only one thing in the house was broken as a result of his negligence.  However, in the last 8 years when our family grew by 3 more boys, I have lost count of the broken items.  Beau has had to make several drywall repairs (he has become a master at this), we have had to re-paint walls and furniture because of our little artists using sharpie markers, I have glued my fingers together while trying to repair broken figurines, bed slats have become broken because little boys like to play Superman, we have had to replace windows (surprisingly, a nerf dart and arrow can actually break a basement window), and Beau has had many opportunities to learn plumbing skills as items have been flushed down the toilets that should NEVER have been there in the first place.  Let's just say that the local dump is filled with broken items from the Bennett household. 

Also, boys resolve all their problems with wrestling and relentless competition.  However, once their battle is over and a victor has been announced, the problem is done.  No grudges, no hostility.  They simply go back to their activity until the next problem.  Boys are little engineers and they prove this each time they decide to take things apart.  I can not even begin to tell you how often I have found little screws in odd locations from yet another attempted experiment.   They are little dare devils and  getting a bloody boo boo is something to be celebrated and is a sign of bravery.  Little boys hope it will leave a scar so they have something to brag about.  Climbing trees and digging for earthworms is a must and chasing rabbits, groundhogs, turkeys, squirrels and chipmunks is all too common in my house  (yes, all of these visit our yard.  The groundhog has made a home underneath our deck).  Running into each other with their bikes on purpose making the victim scream with fear is just another example of their playtime together. 

Communication is reduced to grunts, minimal responses, and absolutely no details.  Oh sure, I get details surrounding their gym time or lunch time at school.  They can tell me how many times they jumped a rope and how much better they were than other students (the competitive drive, remember?) or what their best friend brought for his snack and how they want me to buy the same stuff.  But talking about social things, academic topics, conversations they had throughout the day....forget it.  Now we're back to the grunts and yes and no responses. 

Boys have an innate ability to constantly be dirty and stinky...even just moments after their shower.  Their clothes attract dirt, spilled drinks, fallen spaghetti, and dropped toothpaste.  I have become an expert at deciphering what kind of stain is on their clothes and how to properly treat that stain for removal.  It's a science really.  The growth of dirty clothes in the hamper grows exponentially.  If I fail to do laundry for a couple of days, I might as well give up because I am doomed.






Boys are loud, destructive, and competitive people.  Over the years, I have found that I am actually louder than I used to be.  I feel like I have to be just to be heard.  I laugh at things that just a few years ago I would have never found funny.  Potty talk is common in our house.  Bodily noises entertain the boys far more than it should.  I have come to the conclusion that I will NEVER have a clean bathroom again...until they move away to college.  Calm and stimulating dinner conversation is a thing of the past.  They bring me souvenirs all the time, like slugs, bugs, spiders.  They thoroughly enjoy hearing me squeal every time they bring me a creature from the dirt.  No rain puddle goes unnoticed.  We can be on the other side of the parking lot and I don't even see the rain puddle, but somehow, the boys have an uncanny sixth sense and are what appears to be magnetically drawn to the water.  I have often times been splashed from the waist down from my precious little guys stomping in a puddle.  Some days I feel like I have completely lost what makes me feminine. 

But then there are those precious moments that somehow make everything ok again.  Whether it's Zander witnessing me struggling to lift something and he helps me without being asked, or William running into the house with muddy feet to bring me that special flower he searched all over the yard to find for me or that moment when Oliver comes up to me and gives me the biggest hug and looks right into my eyes and he tells me how much he loves me, or when Carter cradles my face with his hands and says, "Mommy, you are so pretty", they are all such special moments in time.  During these moments, my heart melts and I remember why it's so special having boys.  My boys look after me, they take care of me, they can be gentle and tender with me, and they love me.  Oh, what a special relationship between boys and their mom.  I am lucky.  Tired and frazzled, but lucky.