Living with Boys

For a mom, the hardest thing about raising boys is that you never were one yourself. We girls fundamentally understand each other. On the whole, we love pretty things that are well decorated. We don’t like to get dirty, we like to sit quietly by ourselves, or chat forever with a group of friends. But boys! Boys like to run wild, get dirty, play with weapons and pretend to kill each other. If they accidentally get hurt, they show it off like a trophy.

 

Boys do not seem able to eat such food as grapes, raisins, nuts, or candy simply by taking them from a dish and putting them into their mouths. Instead, they must launch them high above their head and expect them to land in their mouth. If it drops to the ground, it is retrieved and the process repeats itself. The only exception is if a brother is nearby, in which case it is thrown in the direction of the brother and caught in his mouth.

 

I spent my childhood with a stroller and a doll. I had a toy washer and ironing board. I would play by washing my doll’s clothes and ironing them with an iron that never got hot.

 

My three boys spent their childhood as Superman, Batman and Robin. They were Superheroes who saved the world from the bad guys who must be shot and killed. They annihilated anything that came in their way. Amongst themselves, they fought for superior position and were competitive about everything. Wherever we went and whatever we did, it was a race. There was a winner and a loser.

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