Dear Mother of All Boys,
It’s not something that is easy to put a
finger on but there is certainly something special about having a family full
of sons. From what I can tell, the dynamic is different than in the families of
only daughters or those with both sons and daughters. And the perspective
definitely is. Years of managing testosterone will do that a woman.
People will say ridiculous things to you. “I
don’t know how you cope! Boys are so… boisterous/loud/energetic/difficult. You’ve
got your hands full! You need a daughter” They will dress it up as if they are
sharing knowledge, but they don’t know anything because those people are almost
definitely not mothers of all boys.
If they were they would understand having
all sons does not mean that the family is incomplete without a daughter.
They would understand that yes, the days are
loud in a house of all boys. The volume level can reach insane,
shut-the-fuck-up heights from playing and cheering to all-out arguing but that
only makes the quiet time so much more precious.
They would understand that the very same
boys that try to actually physically destroy each other for such heinous acts
as touching each other’s stuff, changing the tv channel in the middle of a show
or teasing each other for missing a goal will also spend hours side by side
watching a movie or playing PS4. Often in the same day.
There are a lot of balls in your life when
you’re a mother of all boys. There are quite literally balls everywhere. In our
household we have basketballs, footballs, soccer balls, tennis balls, bouncing
balls, cricket balls, petanque balls, billiard balls, ping pong balls, marbles,
ball-bearings and testes. Yes, I mention testes because in our house one can
not mention ‘balls’ without a snigger, smirk or all out guffaw from the boys.
Balls=testicles. All day. Every day.
The washing line is full of jocks and socks
and there are grass stains on all the pants knees. We go through fifteen litres
of milk a week and a box of band-aids every month. Grazes, cuts, burns,
splinters and blisters all feature heavily around these parts. And just for the
record… boys do cry. Big rolling tears, often mixed with sweat that drop onto
mum’s shirt as she holds her crying son to her bosom. “Oh my God! Mum said
‘bosom’! Bahahahaha… that is SO wrong Mum.” Boobs=hilarious. All day. Every
day.
Farts are extremely popular. Smelling them,
doing them, pretending you didn’t do them and making fake fart noises using
ANYTHING are also hilarious. Interestingly, flushing the toilet is not popular
at all. Probably because most of the wee doesn’t make it into the actual bowl
anyway. There is piss on the floor. Constantly.
Mothers of sons and daughters will look
upon you with a mix of pity and admiration as they can only imagine that your
job must be twice or thrice as hard as hers is in your family of boys because
her boy is possibly the troublesome one in her household. But for many reasons
boys with only brothers seem to level each other out rather than egg each other
on. Except for when they are actually egging each other on… that shit happens
constantly and it NEVER ends well.
The competition is relentless in a family
of all boys. There has to be a ‘first’ for everything. First to the car, in the
shower, to leave the table, ready for school, in the pool, to the end of the
street, to finish a game. And when they’re not competing they’re daring each
other to jump, to taste or to climb. Often these dares or competitions end in a
fight or tears or both but then it’s forgotten. Boys don’t hold grudges… for
long.
There are no real mood-swings. Yet. There
are only two moods. On and off. And despite what many may think about boys
communicating, there’s A LOT of chatter. Sometimes too much… just like in other
families.
My boys are messy and smelly even though
I’ve taught them to put their stuff away and they shower every day. They have
massive feet and sinewy legs and I can see their ribcage even though they eat
constantly. They seem to be endlessly moving but when they stop I can still see
the babies they were. They can’t help but gravitate to either one of their
parents when we sit on the couch at night together and they are most
comfortable resting their head on our shoulder or wrapping their long, skinny legs
around ours. Boys may be boisterous but they’re affectionate too and there’s
nothing sweeter than seeing a boy that isn’t afraid to cuddle their mum and dad
especially after a tough a game of contact sport.
Having all boys seems to reduce the risk of
subconsciously stereotyping. There are no gender specific behaviours in our
household because there is only one gender [Mum doesn’t count. She is
genderless. She is just MUM] So the boys cook and clean and pick flowers and go
clothes shopping and listen to music and dance. There is no ‘daddy’s little
girl’ or ‘princess’ or ‘mummy’s boy’ or ‘little man of the house’. There are
just sons and brothers.
And there’s something about watching
brothers together that warms my heart. Of course I know plenty of sisters who
are close with their brother [I’m one of them!] but maybe it’s because I feel
so strongly about MY brother that I’m so happy that both my sons have a brother
too.
Dear Mother of All Boys, I want you to know
that I LOVE my all-boy family. They teach me so many things all the time and
I’m positive that being immersed in a world of testosterone and male energy has
made me a better woman. It’s tiring and exhausting and there’s piss all over
the bathroom floor but it’s also complete and chockablock full of gorgeous
boyish love.
Plus, I save a fortune on hand-me-downs.
