Thursday, December 10, 2009


It's exactly what the title said, and it's what I said tonight to my husband:
"I know nothing about raising sons."

I'm a barbie girl
a Cabbage Patch Kid,
a Princess Lei

I have strawberry shortcake from the old days.
I have barbies from the old days.
I have my old dollies, but none of which includes a manual on how to raise sons.

Take today and tonight for example.
Well, let me back track, I suck at scheduling "PLAY DATES." Just the word alone makes me cringe. There are many moms involved in Play GROUPS! Egad!

Just the thought of that word, makes me shudder. It's nothing against moms that are involved with those groups, it's just not my thing. Like I said, I can't even schedule play dates. If it weren't for other moms calling to have my sons over, they would never have play dates. Sure, when one is invited over, I make a mental note to make certain to have that boy over to our house, "for a play date" at a later time, but no matter, I suck at just taking the bun from the wiener and scheduling a "play date."

"Play date." Maybe it's the word that throws me off. It's just such a back-ass word to me. The word carries such positive hope for a fun time with two boys. Sounds so full of positive energy where they play happily the entire time.

I think I'd rather refer to these times as "blind date." Because you just never know what's going to happen. No matter what, no matter how smooth or how crazy the blind date goes, I still end up exhausted with my ears ringing at the end of each one.

I swear these moms must have a protocol for these playdates. If the Zofran doesn't work, the protocol is Reglin (sp??). How they do it, is beyond me. To me, there is no protocol. Even if I try to keep the flow of happy dates going between 2 boys (not to mention my other 2 sons), it always throws me for a loop.

Because boys are maniacs. Or at least my three are.
Which is why my title is what it is.

I have no clue how to raise boys.

Sure I microwave their socks after they happen to step in a wet puddle left from a dripping dog's mouth. Sure I bundle them up and listen to them gripe and complain that they feel fat, bundled up three layers deep. Sure I let them turn my living room into a fort with overturned furniture and blankets upon sheets upon pillows. Sure I let them stay up late, watch Clone Wars, and burp and fart respectfully.

And, yes, I do answer their questions openly and age appropriately honest pertaining to the female body-mine-

But even after those things, I still don't know how boys work.
I don't.

They will hate me for this post someday, and will need years of therapy due to this particular one, but the fact of the matter is, I don't know a stitch about raising three sons. Brian, my husband says, "it's just because you're pissed you didn't have a girl." There is truth to that. I said to him, "well, if we had had a girl in the mix with these crazy three, I'd have a better idea on how to handle them." Brian replies, "no you wouldn't. They'd still be boys. You'd just be more sure of yourself because we'd also be raising a person from Venus-such as yourself."

I need to know how to handle my boys. They aren't robots. They don't sit still. They aren't quiet kids. Sully, has a voice that radiates off of Brooklyn with a whine you wouldn't believe. Jackson, if you look at him sideways and cross eyed, he'll cry. Ben believes he can jump off of anything, regardless of height-and yes he does attempt many of these crazy high jumps-which is why he has to be Velcro'd to my side.

I need to know how you raise boys. How to raise sons that are respectable. How do I have playdates? How come when I do, they get all loud and crazy? Newsflash, Crusty, it's because they're boys. Well, Duh! I know that, but seriously, I really have no idea how boys work.

I don't know why they are loud. Why they gleek, why they flip their eyelids inside out, and why when they open their mouth to tell me a story, their other hand automatically reaches for their "necessaries."

I'm in a rut. But it's not a depressive rut. It's just a rut.

So tell me, if you're a mom of only sons, how do you raise them? How do you do it? How did you do it? If you're a grown man, give me some insight on how I should handle my boys. What did your mom do for you that you loved, as a child, and what did she do that still turns your skin inside out?

I am asking this, because I need to know how boys work, so that I can raise mine in the right fashion. So that when they are grown men, they'll look back and only have a few things on their "MOM IS JACKED UP LIST." After all, how I raise them, how I teach them, will be how they raise their own children someday-if they should ever have children-

Who knows, Sullivan informed me that he's marrying the boys that are part of his best friends club because girls are dumb. Okay with me-maybe their significant other will be able to get me out of my crusty slippers, someday.


Karen :-) said...

I wouldn't worry about it if I were you Elizabeth, I think you're doing a fine job with your boys. Just love them! :-)

About the "play dates" - I'm from the old days where you didn't have play dates. You just went outside and played with whoever happened to be outside!!

Jamie said...

Yea, you posted!

Don't feel bad, I didn't know what the hell to do with my boys, either. They were, and still mostly are, a complete mystery to me. But I will tell you this: I would rather raise a hundred boys to another girl. Girls are BRUTAL. MEAN TO EACH OTHER. SNOTTY. SNARKY. EVER COMPLAING AND ROLLING THEIR EYES. Yes, boys are loud and uncouth much of the time. But they are what they are...what you see. They love their moms. Trust me on this. You are doing an awesome job. Seriously. Hugs, honey. Hang in. :)

KathyA said...

I never would have admitted this is my feminist days, but boys ARE really different from girls. Truthfully, I enjoyed having both!
The 'playdate' thing is just hooey!

austere said...

So GOOD to hear from you again.

Dawn said...

I'm with you on the boy raising thing. However, my 5 year old girl has me beat. Hands.down. I figure I have a few short years before she out-argues me. And the attitude. Egads.