Cooperation

There they went again, Bouncy Boy and Silly Boy. Voices raised, tattle reports flung in my direction, Duplos flying, and then there was a smack.

I thought about sending them to their respective rooms, but then they would just sit and stew about having the world’s worst brother. I thought about sending them outside to walk laps while holding hands, an idea I borrowed from Charity, but there is construction on our block right now and I was too busy sewing Drama Boy’s confirmation suit to go outside and supervise.

I called them to me, and while they pushed and grunted at each other and I reminded them they were brothers, an idea started to develop. I looked in my ribbon drawer, but decided to use pony tail holders instead. Bouncy Boy’s right arm was banded to Silly Boy’s left arm, and they would stay that way until lunchtime (less than an hour). Someone tried to pull the bands off; I told them if they did that I would have Daddy buy handcuffs on his way home for lunch. Bouncy Boy’s eyes lit up at the word “handcuffs” and then quickly darkened again as it dawned on him what I had in mind.

Once they were resigned to their fate, and had been given a few suggestions on working together, I returned to my sewing. They wandered off and returned together: can we watch a movie? Now, the next time I might expect them to spend the whole time figuring out how to play banded together, but this time I decided it was enough for them to pick up the Legos together and then watch a movie. And so they did. . .without fighting!

When Larry came home, they were summoned upstairs to explain to him why they had been banded together, and he gave them one more joint assignment: put away Bouncy Boy’s laundry before lunch. They did, perhaps not very well, but they were unbanded. How long do you suppose they will cooperate before I need to get out the bands again?

Foot in mouth

Words can be so subtle we don’t always realize how we may have affected others. Sometimes it is the seemingly innocent comments of a stranger; other times it may be a friend or family member who does not fully understand the road we travel. I think mothers are especially vulnerable to comments. Everyone has advice to give, and what mother does not have bumps in the road that cause her to already doubt herself?

It’s common to begin with the words I could never. What comes next may range from homeschool to work outside the home to have my kids so close in age to handle so many boys to care for a special needs kid. Many things in life are not easy, whether they are choices we made or things that were given to us. Another variation, which hurts on a deeper level, is God knew I couldn’t (fill in the blank). Ouch! What does that mean if I’m struggling with that very thing, that God likes you more than He likes me? Of course that is not true, but a mother’s mind is not always rational.

In particular, there are any number of comments made on family size that are thinly veiled criticism, and the hearer recognizes that immediately. Are they all yours? Aren’t you going to have kids? Are you done having babies yet? Are you trying for a girl/boy this time? Don’t you think he needs a brother/sister? If you disagree with how many or how few children someone else has, keep it to yourself unless you are financially responsible for the children. Conception is a private matter within a marriage, and if a couple wants you in on their plans they will let you know.

Family spacing is another private matter. Whether it’s a gap between kids or kids unusually close in age, it really is between husband and wife. Perhaps there was a miscarriage (or several) that was kept private; perhaps there were other issues that caused a couple to wait more than two years between pregnancies. Perhaps the couple wanted their children close in age or perhaps they were surprised. But unplanned does not always mean unwanted and assumptions should not be made.

Our own mothers taught us to Think before you speak and that is advice we will never outgrow. May we always seek to encourage the mothers around us, even when their path is not one that we would choose!

Why Gender Matters

As promised I am reporting back after reading Why Gender Matters by Leonard Sax, a family physician and psychologist. I especially recommend this book for all parents and teachers who spend time with children of the opposite sex. . .although it is also helpful in understanding the other adults in your life as well as children of your own sex. The book first shows from scientific studies the differences between males and females (including vision, hearing, and response to stress), and then explores ways to help both boys and girls reach their fullest potential based on their strengths. He covers topics ranging from education to discipline to exceptions to the rule. Dr. Sax is an advocate for single sex education, but much of what he says can also be utilized at home or in mixed classrooms.

Because I couldn’t say it any better, here is a quote from Time:

Until recently, there have been two groups of people: those who argue sex differences are innate and should be embraced and those who insist that they are learned and should be eliminated by changing the environment. Sax is one of the few in the middle–convinced that boys and girls are innately different and that we must change the environment so differences don’t become limitations.

So much for that Mother of the Year award

A recent conversation (that will make more sense if you’ve read Harry Potter), on a day when Boy Genius was dragging his heels:

BG: But why do I have to dry the dishes?

Me: Alright then, why do I have to fix dinner?

BG: Because you’re the mom.

Me: Well, then, you have to help because you’re a kid, a part of this family.

BG: But you get special privileges!

Me: Oh, like what?

BG: You get to eat chocolate and stuff!

Me: Ah, but that is because sometimes you kids act like dementors!

Happy Mother’s Day!

To all the mothers whose example I seek to follow, especially to Mom and Mimi. . .

An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels.
The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain.
She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life.
She seeks wool and flax, and works with willing hands.
She is like the ships of the merchant; she brings her food from afar.
She rises while it is yet night and provides food for her household and portions for her maidens.
She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard.
She dresses herself with strength and makes her arms strong.
She perceives that her merchandise is profitable. Her lamp does not go out at night.
She puts her hands to the distaff, and her hands hold the spindle.
She opens her hand to the poor and reaches out her hands to the needy.
She is not afraid of snow for her household, for all her household are clothed in scarlet.
She makes bed coverings for herself; her clothing is fine linen and purple.
Her husband is known in the gates when he sits among the elders of the land.
She makes linen garments and sells them; she delivers sashes to the merchant.
Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come.
She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.
She looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her:
“Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all.”
Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her in the gates.
 –Proverbs 31:10-31

Two and thirty

That is to say, about 2″ and 30#. . .it’s all the advantage I have left on Drama Boy! His feet passed mine up sometime last year, and his hands are nearly as big as mine (oddly, some of his fingers are longer and some shorter). He remembers all the things I forget (even if he embellishes the truth at times) and has gotten far enough in his math that he has to ask Larry for help when he gets stuck. He can usually be trusted to babysit his baby brother, and can start the van for me on a cold Sunday morning. He may be bossy at home, but I frequently receive compliments on his manners away from home. He’s a better cook than I was at his age, although his cleaning-up abilities are lacking. He shows artistic potential, even if most of his best pictures are done while procrastinating on his schoolwork. He’s an avid reader and a decent writer. But most of all, he’s my firstborn son and I can’t imagine spending my days without watching him learn and grow!

Train up a girl

. . .in the way she should dress. I haven’t yet weathered the teen years with Twirly Girl. But for a 9 year old, she has a good handle on what is appropriate attire and what is not. Her ‘indecencies’ usually involve a favorite item of clothing getting too small to do its duty; when we receive a box of hand-me-downs, she needs very little input from me as to what to keep and what to pass. To that end, here are a few ways I have begun to teach her the art of dressing in a manner that is both feminine and modest.

• Begin at the beginning. If you have a baby girl, dress her like a girl. That doesn’t limit you to pink and ruffles. But there’s no need to leave strangers wondering whether the baby is a boy or girl. In spite of my frugal nature, Twirly Girl hardly ever wore hand-me-downs from her brothers. When she did, I added a girly touch of some sort: a flowered shirt under the OshKosh bibs, bows in her hair with the Lands End rugby suit.
• Model for her. If you haven’t worn a skirt since your wedding day, don’t be surprised when your three year old refuses to wear her Easter dress.
• Provide modest attire. This goes beyond not buying immodest items. If she likes to wear dresses for play, make sure she has tights for winter and shorts or bloomers for summer. Skorts are also a good compromise for playground acrobatics. If her church dress is thin, get her a slip to wear underneath. A belt will keep her pants in their place.
• Talk the talk. Twirly Girl received a miniature version of a junior-style outfit when she was four. The short shorts were meant to hang from her tiny hips, and the shirt stopped well above her navel. She tried it on, and we talked about parts that need to be covered. She was quite cooperative and thankfully we were able to find a replacement outfit that still sported Dora the Explorer.
• Ask questions. Now that she is old enough to dress herself, I try to resist telling her what is or isn’t appropriate. Instead I ask questions, and help talk her through the answers when needed. “Do those pants come to your waist?” “Is that skirt long enough?” “Would you like it if your brothers wore a shirt that said the same thing only about girls?”
• Limit influences. I don’t keep her in a bubble, but we do keep tabs on what all the kids are watching and reading. What the eye sees often will begin to seem normal and acceptable. We spend very little time at the mall, which has the added bonus of saving our eyes from all the displays of immodest clothing.

Mommy brain: the rest of the story

Some days I get so frustrated with all the things I can’t remember, like how to write a coherent paragraph or how many months old Baby Boy is or how to solve the quadratic equation or what is the name of that kid standing in front of me. But the other day in the shower (the only quiet place around here), I started thinking of all the things that only a mother can do. This is the other side of mommy brain, the positive side, because there are all these things I can do, usually without a second thought, like. . .

• Know whether or not to call the doctor after kissing a sick child
• Determine which size container will hold the leftover soup
• Teach 4 kids at 4 different levels while also taking care of the little guys
• Find almost anything in the house (or at least know where it SHOULD be)
• Create a meal out of whatever is left in the fridge
• Wake up instantly when a child cries or is sick
• Keep an eye on the kids while still getting other work done
• Recite everyone’s full name, date of birth, and birth weight (though time of birth and length are beyond me)
• Nurse the baby. . .now how cool is that to be able to make milk on demand?!

Boys and Gears

A couple more thoughts regarding life as a boy mom:

I can’t believe I forgot to include the endless supply of hugs and kisses, delivered when I least expect them! This goes hand in hand with all the fighting to. . .well, hold my hand.

While I think the things I listed are all typical boy behaviour, I don’t think there is such a creature as a typical boy. After all, it took five sons to give me enough material to write one list! I am also convinced that the rowdiness factor increases exponentially every time you add another boy, and that it is son #3 who takes you from being a mom with boys to a boy mom. This is said with all due respect to all you moms with one or two boys: raising boys is a big job, especially in today’s world where there is seldom enough physical labor to keep them busy (and tired). But raising three (or more) boys goes beyond job and into the realm of adventure. Fasten your seatbelt. . .it’s a long and bumpy ride!

Shifting my gears:

I have been spending more time in the kitchen lately. This is a good thing as far as the increased variety of foods appearing on our menu, although it is a bad thing as far as the amount of time (and energy) left to spend in the sewing room.

Last weekend I started a corduroy blazer (Ottobre 2/2006). Don’t ask me why; I’ve never worn one before! I got the body to fit before I ran out of steam. I was hoping it would be a trial run to my Easter ensemble, maybe not.

Well, I didn’t get into the sewing room again until yesterday, when my beloved husband took all six children to Walmart and gave me several hours of peace and quiet! (obviously, they didn’t just go to Walmart, though it is an hour away. . .) It was hard, but I gave myself permission to let the blazer be a UFO for now (I hope Mom isn’t reading my blog today). Anyhow, what I really need is a light outerwear jacket, so I traced off the one in Ottobre 2/2007 and then cut it out of a dark greenish brown (or brownish green) linen-cotton canvas. Sounds like an ugly color, doesn’t it? But brown and olive are my two main neutrals, so it works well for me. I didn’t have quite enough fabric for the hood so I improvised a sort of stand up collar; we’ll see how that sews up. Actually, it turns out I should have checked the length before I started cutting: if I had already shortened it the needed 2+ inches, I might have been able to squeeze out a hood (that I’d never use anyhow). Today I sewed the bellows pockets; the flaps look great but the pockets went a bit wonky on me. I’m leaving off the welt pockets because I’d never use pockets located there!

You know you’re a boy mom when:

• A can of Coke is spilled on the floor and the cleaning tool of choice is a pair of drinking straws.
• More time is spent jumping off the roof of the clubhouse than playing inside.
• You are always offered the last cookie or piece of cheesecake ’just because.’
• The last ten jokes you heard all included bodily functions.
• It doesn’t phase you when your boys pair up and start kicking each other in the fellowship hall after church.
• Restocking your private stash of medicinal chocoate is a line item in the budget.
• You never have to worry about finding someone to shovel the drive, mow the lawn, or rake the leaves.
• In telling your husband about the day’s events, you find you need to know the plural form of p*n*s.
• All too often, you have to yell just to be heard.
• When you finally get a chance to sit down, everyone fights to sit next to you.
• You find that most of what happens to you would only be understood by a fellow boy mom.

Yes, I know. . .I have a girl too. And yes, I realize some of your girls are more gutsy than their brothers. But there is some sort of atmospheric change when testosterone has an overwhelming majority in a family (is it the same for estrogen? I wouldn’t know). Twirly Girl is so outnumbered that her gentle influence is hard to feel on an average day; she deserves a medal just for surviving.