But how do they know?

Evan: But I want a baby girl!

Me: Why?

Evan: Because I want to dance with her when she gets older!

Awww!

Me: Well, it’s probably going to be a baby boy.

Evan: How can you tell?

Me: Well, the doctor took a special camera and looked.  She’s pretty sure it’s a boy.

The Husband: Probably?  Pretty sure?

Me: Shut up.  They make mistakes.

Ok, maybe I’m not as resigned to this boy thing as I pretend to be.

But the next person to ask if I’m disappointed, I’ll punch in the face.  Luckily they have only asked my mom, who waves them off with a “Of course not, she’s having a baby.”  But then Christmas is coming with all that family.  This may be an interesting family get-together.

The News

If I had known what the ultra sound room looked like, I would have insisted on a time in which my mom and the boys could have come.  It was roomy with chairs for six with a big flat screen hanging on the wall, hooked to the ultra sound machine.  It was impressive.  Baby delivering was lucrative.

As we started it, the doc asked, “So what do we want?”

The Husband: A Girl!

The Doc:  Then I’ll call her a she until we know.

I rolled my eyes and concentrated on the blurb that turned out to be my baby.  And the little stinker was kneeling.  The med student engaged us in conversation where we mentioned we had two boys already.

Med student: What do they think?

Me: Well, the two year old has no idea what train wreck is going to hit him.  The four year old is pretty excited.  First he wanted a girl.  But then he wanted a bald baby.  So if it’s a bald baby, it has to be a boy.  He decided we’ll name him Kevin.  Or Elephant.

Med Student: Kevin?  Like from Up?!

Me: I guess so.

Doc:  It looks like Kevin is going to be a good name.  More socially acceptable than Elephant.

The Husband: Are you sure?

We stared at the screen as she moved the instrument around for a good picture of the boy parts.

Doc: Well, I checked several times to make sure that wasn’t the umbilical cord.  But that defiantly looks like boy parts. 

Yup.  They sure did.

We watched in silent as she studied the heart and head, explaining what we saw.  Tears formed in my eyes, but I forced them back.

As we left the office with all the pictures, The Husband turned to me.

The Husband: I’m really disappointed.  I totally thought this was a girl.  What are the odds?  Don’t worry, babe, we can always adopt or try again.

Me: I think this will be the last pregnancy.  I don’t know if I can take more vomiting and peeing my pants.  I’m a little disappointed too.  But we really have to rush because I have to make chicken and dumplings at my mom’s.

I told my family as I prepared dinner.  Then when everything was cooking, I called my BFF, who rambled on about her day until I mentioned I went to the doctor.

BFF: Damnit.  I should have called you.  It’s on my calendar!  Well?!

Me: It’s a boy.

BFF: Oh, honey!

Me: I know.  It’s ok.  I only wanted to cry a little bit.

And then I cried.  I cried for five minutes straight.  As my BFF told me it was ok to be disappointed, that it didn’t mean I was a bad mom or that I wouldn’t love the baby any less, it was ok.   I stopped.

Me: So I’m a mom of a troop of boys.

BFF: Yup.

Me: It’s going to be fun.

BFF: Yup.

And I felt better as we talked.

I always pictured having a daughter, even as a child.  But what do I need a girl for?  Someone who would bake and cook with me.  I never wanted to be in the kitchen when I was a kid, unless it was baking.  My brother learned to cook at my mother’s side.  I learned after I left the house.  Did you know there’s a wrong way to eat a tomato?  Someone to shop with me?  I hate shopping, except with certain people.  In college someone would drag me to the mall, and I would sit with the boyfriends (with a backward nod and How’s it going) as I nearly died of boredom as the girl tried on thing after thing.  Play faeries with?  Actually the boys love Tinker Bell.  They love my little pocket toys and my faeries.  I guess I’ll be buying the Tinker Bell movies for Christmas.  Doing a little girl’s hair?  I hate doing hair.  As a little girl, I would cringe as my mom put the dead hair she pulled out of the brush in my hands, and that was after begging and sobbing not to make me hold it.  To teach someone to wear make-up?  I only wear make-up at grown up events.

As I talked to the BFF, I told her what I (and she) believed.  God gives us what we need; not what we want.  How easy would it be to raise a feminist girl?  A tomboy and princess all rolled into one?  Easy.  (So says the woman without daughters.)  But I have to raise feminist boys.  Boys that will go through a stage that girls are yucky, a stage where girls are stupid, a stage when girls are just to mess around with.  I get to crack heads and teach manners.  I have to be stronger to prove women are strong.  I also have to bone up on my sports skills so they know exactly how a girl throws.  (In my peak, I could throw a softball with one bounce from the back of centerfield to home plate.)  I have my work cut out for me, but I plan on raising the good guys that any mother would be proud to call son one day.

I think I cursed myself.  I said on some radical feminist blog that it’s an adult that makes a toy gender specific.  What makes a car a boy toy?  What makes a doll a girl toy?  Then I turned around and told my pen pal that I couldn’t find any craft kits for boys because they were all about making jewelry and spa stuff.  My pen pal asked, “Wouldn’t your boys love making sparkly jewelry?”  Damnit.  Yes, they would.  Just like Evan would be thrilled with a Tinker Bell doll.  And wings. 

As my BFF and I began to end our conversation, she giggled.

Me: What?

BFF: The Husband was sweet to be disappointed.  But I think he wanted you to have a girl because he thinks the boys are for him.  (pause for breath)  What he doesn’t realize is they are all for you.  Besides boys are closer to their mothers.

I smiled.  She was right, as usual.  Didn’t I just read a book about this?

That night as The Husband crawled into bed, he tried to cheer me up because he hadn’t realized I was so over being sad.

The Husband: Babe, you’re going to one protected woman.

I smiled as I pictured myself surrounded by three strapping boys.

Me: Don’t you forget it.

The Husband: Hey, I’m one of them!

Sure, you are.

Thank you to all the wonderful people who commented on A Dark Secret.  You rock my world and made me feel so much better.  I’ll answer everyone later today, but I thought I would get this up for my East coast readers.

Ready for some fun?

My baby brother is a big guy.  He’s 6 foot 5.  A sturdy 6 foot 5.  He’s a walking giant.  And kids love him, especially my kids. 

Recently my brother taught them everything is more fun with their hands up.  This includes the new nightly ritual when we leave.  The boys are buckled up.  Evan shouts, “Uncle M!  We’re ready for some fun!”  Evan and Sean throw their hands in the air.  My brother grabs a hold of the luggage rack and rocks the hell out of my SUV.

And now Evan insists that we wait for Mommy to be in the car, so that I too can’t enjoy the fun.  I just hope the shocks will last.

Magical Kisses

One of the best things about being a mother is that your kisses make everything better.  They’re magical.  Amazingly, my boys believe in that magic as I kiss away the pain.

Last night the boys had a scuffle, which is now par for the course.  Sean received an injury.  Nothing serious, just a little energetic move by Evan.  Sean came moaning to me.

Sean: Mommy!  I hurt!

He rubbed his head.  I gathered him up onto my lap and kissed his head 

Me:  All better.

Sean: Thank you, Mommy!

I slid out of my lap, walked over to the TV, and carefully bumped his head on the TV stand. 

 Sean:  Ow!  Mommy!  I hurt!

He rubbed his head and walked back to me.  I stifled a laugh and kissed his head.

Me: All better.

Sean: Thank you, Mommy!

He walked away.  He knelt down by the coffee table and carefully bumped his head.

Sean: Ow! Mommy!  I hurt!

He rubbed his head and walked back to me.  I laughed.  I pulled him onto my lap.

Me: Sean., you don’t have to get hurt to get kisses.

Sean:  I hurt!

I kissed him, and he slid off my lap and walked back to the coffee table.

Me: Sean!  Don’t hurt yourself!  Mommy will give you kisses whenever you want them.  Just tell me you want some.

Sean shot me a dubious look.  Then he lifted his head to aim it for the coffee table.

Me: No, Sean.  No hurting yourself.

He went back to trying.  I dove and covered him kisses.

Sean:  Thank you, Mommy!  I all better.

He walked away.

Role Models

I was scrambling eggs as Evan watched.

Evan: Mommy!  I want to be like Papi!  I’m going to grow as tall as Papi!  I’m going to have a big, fat tummy like Papi!  I’m going to like the same football team as Papi!  The Dallas Cowboys!

Ah teaching moment about obesity.

Me:  That’s wonderful Evan!  You can be whatever you want to be.  But it’s not good to be fat.

Evan: But Papi is!

Me: Well, yes.  But we want Papi to lose some weight because it’s not healthy for him.  We should play more sports with him.

Evan: So I’ll go on a diet with Papi.  Then we can have big, fat tummies together!

OK.  Not the best teaching moment.  Just let it go.

Two hours later I was telling the story to The Husband.

Evan: No, Mommy!  I want to be like Uncle M!  I’m going to grow as big as Uncle M!  Because I want to be big enough to get the lollipops down!  (When he visits our house, my brother likes to tease the boys by putting the lollipop container on a shelf that only he at 6’5” can reach.)  Then I can go to work and be able to buy anything my heart wants!

Me: That’s a good plan.

A word about this morning

It was a horrible morning.

My wallet was gone.  You decided to be up cage fighting before dawn.  Before Dawn.

There were glimmers of hope.

Your father watched you in hopes I slept in against the noise.  (But that’s his superhero ability.)  I got some emails from some of my favorite people.  It turned out I left my wallet at the last store we were at yesterday, but really that would be your fault.

Then I took you out of the house.

I should have known it was a bad idea.

It took my twenty minutes to get shoes and socks and jackets on you.  By the way, jackets are not optional when your mom declares you have to wear them.  And Sean, it’s not funny to keep choosing the other jacket from the one that’s in my hand.

I nearly had to drag you across the parking lot to get to the store with my wallet.  Then you danced merrily as I talked to three different people in search for my wallet I was told was there 30 minutes before.  At least, they had it.  Then I dragged you back across the parking lot.  Evan begging for lunch at a “restaurant” doesn’t work if you’re being a pain in the butt.

Then I needed to go to the grocery store.  Then my brain must have stopped working because I also decided I might as well hit the dollar store before the grocery store because they’re right next to each other.

Which worked out well for the first two minutes.

Then you had to sword fight with the candy-filled plastic candy canes, ask for different ornaments, and innocently suggest we go down the aisle with the picture frames and candles.

I should have known better.  The aisle led to the toys.  I can only thank God that I can say “We’ll put it on your list” because it makes you leave faster than a no.  We were still there too long.  And Evan, what is it with you and the most disgusting, ugliest toys?

At least you both we’re adorable for the cashier as you entertained her with pirate stories.

The grocery store wasn’t so bad at first either.  You helped me find apples, cucumbers, and onions.  You even liked the broccoli idea.

Then we got to pick out dried fruit.  Then Evan decided, after we made our decision on the dried plums you both just had to have, that he wanted dried cranberries.  Next time, little dude.  Then the whining began.  For three aisles.  Enough for a woman to shoot me a dirty look that I was happily willing to return because it was the third aisle.  Like she knew that my kids acted this way all the time.  He’s whining, annoying true, but he’s not stealing toys.  And Sean, running around, not standing in one place, must move at all times.  Ah, good times.

The whining settled to a dull roar as I finished the grocery shopping.  Could you both not take off at the last five feet before we get to the cookie stand with blinking lights?  Because you almost knocked down some old women to get there, trapping me behind a line of carts.  I hate that.

Evan, the answer is no.  Again.  No to the sting cheese.  No to that cheese.  No to the chips.  No to the cookies.  No to the doughnuts.  No to the Christmas decorations.  No to the toy car.  No.  No.  No.

Then the dire warning about listening to me, standing still, being good in the checkout lane fell out of your ears as we crossed the aisle to the checkout.

Just as you were about to act out, Evan engaged the woman in front in a conversation, who said “Are you listening to your mommy?”  You became quiet and intent on the woman.  Then Evan had a nice conversation with her.  Sean stayed by me.  Evan helped me with emptying out the cart.  I swear the woman was a saint. 

Of course as soon as she left, you tried to follow her.  My attention was torn between the cashier and keeping you in the store.  As we left, I discovered “the treat” I was trying to brag you with, the cardboard gingerbread house, had been moved.  It was gone.  The whining started again as I demanded you climb on the cart, keeping your feet up. 

At least you snacked as I loaded the car.  But if tomorrow is anything like today, I’m packing up, and you’re living with your grandparents.

Raising boys

Browsing throw the library, I came across Raising Boys without Men: How Maverick Moms are Creating the Next Generation of Exceptional Men by Peggy Drexler, Ph.D.  I was curious, so I checked it out.  I am raising two boys, perhaps three.  The book was fascinating!

I originally assumed the book would be about single mothers raising sons, but it was much, much more.  Drexler began her Ph.D. thesis studying stable lesbian couples who were raising boys.  For the book, she started studying single mothers by choice as well as some divorced and widowed mothers.  Drexler wanted to see exactly what the issues where for boys who were raised without a father figure.  She found that boys without fathers did just as well as those with fathers.  In fact, the boys studied were more well-rounded, more emotional in touch, and better able to articulate themselves than the boys who had fathers.

Drexler found that mothers encouraged their sons to talk, never allowing them to shut their mothers out with one word answers.  These mothers allowed their sons to embrace their own sense of masculinity.  These mothers actively sought out good male role-models for their sons, and these mothers took an active interest in whatever these boys were.  It is good parenting that raises good children, not a good mom or good dad.

The husband was a little worried at first that I was planning a divorce.  Like that’s something I want to do at five months along.  But I got this book because I’m 50% responsible for turning my boys into men, and I need to be active in their lives.

While reading this book, I realized I do let The Husband take the more physically active role with the boys.  I’m making a bigger effort to wrestle and play sports with the boys.  I’ve started dragging us on hikes and to parks.  I’ve got to make a bigger effort in teaching them to ride bikes and play baseballs, soccer, and basketball.  If I want to be a good parent, I have to be the emotional, physical, hands-on, intelligent parent all at once.

Then I read about one mom allowed her son to wear nail polish when he wanted.  He was a soccer player and love to build things.  He was a typical boy, who just wanted to wear nail polish every once in a while.  Then a few days after reading this excerpt, Evan asked for his nails to be painted blue.  I asked him what his dad would say (because The Husband was at a college football game).  Evan smiled and replied, “He’ll say, ‘That’s awesome, Evan!’”  I called The Husband and explained the whole thing after I painted Evan’s nails.  Unfortunately when Evan did proudly show his blue painted nails, The Husband groaned an oh-no.  We had a little talk about Evan’s self-esteem, masculinity, and that no this does not mean your son is gay.   Because I read this book, I was more comfortable with my choice to let the boys explore everything from baking to nail polish to fairy wings.

The biggest lesson I learned was I didn’t have to let my boys grow apart from me.  I’ve worried from the day Evan was born that one day he would walk away from me because that’s what boys do.  He would create a wall between us, never calling me when he left home, always spending holidays with his wife’s family, leaving me wondering, calling, begging for his attention.  Then I had another boy and possibly another, and before I read this book, I saw my old age becoming a very lonely place.  But Dexler interviewed adult men who were raised without fathers, and they all talked about the importance of their mothers, calling them for advice, seeing them on weekends, and still playing one on one on the backyard court.  I realized I could have that.  I wanted that.  God willing, I will have that with my boys.

I’m going to buy this book because I’m sure I’ll need the advice every now and then.  I think this is an important book to read for all mothers, with sons or daughters, with husbands or not, because it gives some good advice from women who are doing it right.  It also exonerates mothers from being the villain that ruined the kids life because she was too intense with her love.  It’s nice to have someone tell you that you can’t love your kid enough.

Into the bowl

I had pulled the boys from their bath, and they, as their custom, ran into the family room to huddle in their towels.  I made sure that they were watching child appropriate television programming.  Evan was huddled on the arm chair.  Sean stood with his towel like a cape.  I turned my back to get a diaper in the bedroom.

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of water hitting plastic.

Sean must have found one of The Husband’s water bottles and is dumping it out.  I turned to scold. 

Only Sean didn’t have a water bottle.

He was peeing, on accident, into a snack bowl someone had left in the middle of the floor.  The pee was perfectly filling the bowl.  I stood in shock, not wanting to say anything in case Sean moved, making more of a mess.  When he was done, I ran out of the room to get paper towels.

Me: Sean!  You peed! 

Sean: I sorry!

Me: No, it was an accident.  We just need to get you to the potty.

Sean: I sorry!

I hugged and kiss Sean.

Me: It’s ok, Seanny.  It was an accident.  Next time we’ll get to the potty.

Excuse me, please

We were finishing the end of our supper of turkey sandwiches.  Delicious.  Evan sat between my parents, being coaxed into eating a real turkey sandwich instead of a deli turkey one.  Sean sat next to me, nibbling like a mouse on bread, turkey, and broccoli.  Like all meals, I was telling some story or another. 

Then I felt a little hand on my shoulder.  I turned to look at Sean.

Sean looked deep into my eyes.  The picture of seriousness.

Sean: Mommy.  I got to go.

What?

Me: Where do you have to go?

Sean broke his serious character.  A smile danced in his eyes and across his lips.

Sean: Outside!

Me: It’s too dark to go outside.

Sean: Get down, please?

Me: What do you say?

Sean: Excuse, please!

Me: Fine.  But no pie for you.

Sean: No pie!

I helped him down and off he ran.

Phone calls and partial phone calls from home

Him: Fae!  They wouldn’t eat Spaghetti-O’s.  What kid doesn’t eat Spaghetti-O’s!

Me: Ours?

Him: Ok, I made a rookie mistake.

Me: (pause)

Him: They asked for brownies this morning before breakfast, and I let them have some.

Me: (pause)

Him: They didn’t eat any eggs I made them for breakfast.

Me: (pause)

Him: Why did you hide the diaper bag?!!  Why aren’t Seanny’s diapers in there?!!

(For the record: The diaper bag has been in the same spot since March when we moved in, on the dryer by the garage door.  I stocked the diaper bag before I left.  He didn’t look in the right place, which has been the same place since Sean was born two and half years ago.  It’s even labeled.)

Him: So I made another mistake.  I noticed Evan was running around and holding himself at the park, so I asked him if he needed to go to the potty.  He said yes, but he wanted to go to Grandma’s and Papi’s to do it (because they were going there any ways after the park).  So I moved quickly, got everyone there quickly.  I pulled Evan out, who ran to the door.  He tripped and fell.  He peed.  He was very upset.

Me: I bet he was.

Him: So then we- Guys!  Stop that!  No hitting!  No splashing!  No!  Stop That!  Igottago.

(The Husband decided to bathe the boys Monday morning, and I happened to call at that time.)

Him: So when are you coming home?

Me: 3:30 today.

Him: Real quick.  What time is Evan’s school?

Me: 12:30.  Leave the house at 12:15 to make sure you have time to strap everyone in and out.

Him: Babe, you’re greatly appreciated.

Me: At least for a week.