Archive for the ‘boys’ Tag
February 15 2011
I sent my oldest son off with a pack of Superhero Squad Valentine cards for his classmates this morning.
Because nothing says love like the Incredible Hulk, Wolverine, and Captain America.
A pack of Valentine cards that I had to talk him into getting in the first place by assuring, “Look! These aren’t mushy at all!”.
He still wasn’t happy about it.
Since school was closed yesterday due to selective parent/teacher conferences, they were having their party today, along with a celebration for the 100th day of school. I tried, I really did, to get him to do something, anything, for the 100th day. “We could draw a picture! We could bring in 100 suckers! I’ve got a great idea, how about 100 stickers!”. He flat-out refused. Fine, I finally agreed, but “you should really bring in Valentine cards for your classmates”. “Not Carrie-Ann!”, he stated in resolution, “she’s mean to me”.
He didn’t want to do that either, though, until I took him to the store with me. There, we dug through the selection of mass-produced sentiments of care until we came across the Superheros. “It’s either this or Hello Kitty”, became an easy decision once that ultimatum was delivered. Upon return home, we sat at his desk and wrote each name in the scrawl of 1st grade.
“But I’m still not making one for Carrie-Ann”, he repeated adamantly. And we didn’t.
I snuck a few extra in his backpack, though. Just in case.
November 18 2010
The overwhelming consensus from mothers of school-age children is that it isn’t fair to write about their kids now that they’re in school. Once they have a life of their own, it’s time to leave it to them. I agree to an extent. The fact that I try to keep their identities protected might give an inch more leeway, but the details of what happens to my son while immersed in the land of worksheets and recess are his. Which is why I had a fight with myself over whether to post this little tidbit. Except it technically isn’t what’s happening at school, but at his bus stop. Loophole!
My 7 year old Jedi has a crush on a little blonde girl at his bus stop.
“Oh, that’s Brandy!”, he remarked excitedly, the first day we saw her there. “She has a cute laugh! It’s the cutest laugh in school!”, he kind of nervously revealed. “Can I go stand next to her?”, he asked. Sure, I answered, though a tad insulted that I could so easily be replaced.
There he stood at her side until the bus came. She didn’t pay a lot of attention to him, but he continued smiling, anyway.
The next day, when we saw her again, he repeated devotedly, “Isn’t she cute? Do you think she’s cute? She has such a cute laugh!” I’ve been replaced ever since, instead planting himself next to Brandy, my son’s first apparent object of elementary affection. She still doesn’t pay him much attention, but he’s persistent and doesn’t seem to mind. I want to tell him it’s going to happen a lot, girls are funny, you might want to get used to it. But it seems we both have some things to get used to.
November 09 2010
There’s been a copious amount of discussion recently about stifling gender roles in children. How boys are blue, girls are pink, and to step outside of this box is a recipe for ridicule. You’ve read it all, I’m sure. While I initially had little to say on the subject that hasn’t been said before, I then found a piece of my voice yesterday morning.
It’s not my sons that are stepping outside their bounds. They are blue as blue can be on their own. My daughter, however, could be considered color blind.
Growing up with two older brothers, it makes sense that she’d attempt to emulate them. In what they do and how they play and the clothes they wear. I’ve mentioned before, Abby is adamantly against dresses or too much frill. She’ll oblige me with a skirt now and then, but she feels most comfortable in a pair of her brother’s baggy, cinched-with-a-belt jeans. If that’s what she prefers, I’ll let her strut her choice when we take Jedi to the bus stop in the morning. Because I really don’t see the harm.
As was the case yesterday when my parents dropped by for a quick visit. My mother’s said words about her choice of fashion before, but this day she wouldn’t let it go.
“Why are you in your brothers pants? Those are GROSS. They’re boy pants! You’re a girl, you should be in girl pants!”, and she continued on. Even so far as to rifle through Abby’s dresser drawer to retrieve her a rarely touched pair of her own, which my daughter decisively dismissed.
Why does it matter if she wants to wear her brother’s clothes? Soon enough, I’m sure she’ll embrace an adoration of princesses and lip gloss, but it doesn’t need to be now. Even if she never does, so what? Children at this age are not weighed heavily by social rules and stereotypes. This is the only time of their life when they can truly believe it’s alright to be anything they want to be. Whether a boy wants to wear a dress on Halloween or a girl borrows from her brother’s closet. There is absolutely nothing to gain by suppressing that confidence. Let it be.
September 14 2010
I was watching a movie on cable while Jedi sat on the couch, neither of us paying a lot of attention. I believe it was Hitch, a completely inoffensive romantic Will Smith comedy. Except there was a montage scene with different couples kissing innocently enough. To which Jedi scrunched his face in blushed embarrassment then buried his head in the sofa pillow. The first time he’s ever acted like that.
“What? What’s wrong?”, I asked him, amused by his reaction.
Quietly, he replied, “That’s making my boy parts grow.”
“WHAT? Your what is what now?!”, I was not ready for that answer in the slightest. What do I do from here? The kissing made his boy parts grow? At 6 years old? Really? Where’s my damn parenting manual? Shouldn’t he be talking to his father at a time like this? Brain, not computing.
He then repeated the same thing. What’s a simple, non-hilarious, proper parental response to this? Something along the lines of it’s OK, it’s natural, but STOP IT. Though I decided first to ask, “What does that mean, Jedi?”
“It means I’m NOT happy”, he stated matter-of-factly.
Oh, well then. Awkward crisis diverted. As long as he keeps thinking the same, forever and ever and always. Quietly, to himself. I think we’ll steer clear of romantic comedies until he’s grown and out of the house from now on, though, just in case. I’m clearly not ready for that conversation.
July 01 2010
I’m living with boys. This shouldn’t be such a revelation, I know. I’ve been living with boys for awhile. I think I’ve been so focused on the only other girl in the house, how she was developing and progressing and trying to mix in some pink, that I missed an important transformation, though. It’s as if a light switch flicked on when I may not have been paying close enough attention. Because where I once had floppy-mopped kids that happened to enjoy some rough and tumble, I now have boys.
Boys.
My 6 year old has learned the fine art of bathroom humor. He burps, he farts. He has what he has dubbed pee-pee contests. Flashing one’s behind is hilarious. I’ve caught him trying to smear a booger on the wall. His fingernails are always filthy. He’s messy and loud and missing another tooth and ripping the knees out of his pants and his feet stink.
The other day, Jedi passed gas at the dinner table. I told him not to do that again, it was rude and we have manners. So when we were finished eating, he walked over to where I sat on the couch and tooted, twice. Boys are not known for subtlety.
“Did you just fart?”, I asked him.
After uproarious amusement on his end, he settled down enough to say, “No, it wasn’t me! That was Abby!”. He’s also acquired the skill of passing on blame to his younger siblings, though his laughter still gives him away.
Boys.
I'm Crystal. A 30-something mom to 3 young kids living in the Midwest USA. When I'm not chasing my children, I'm a freelance writer and web designer. I like to tell stories from our days and share what we enjoy...
