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Oct.
2003 |
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Living
with boys: Rougher,
sweatier, but just as fun |
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I had not planned to have boys. When I was a little girl,
I spent a fair amount of time playing with dolls, and
acquired a new one each birthday and Christmas from ages
4 to about 10. Two dolls a year for six years is 12 dolls.
They were all girls. Most had blond hair, blue eyes, wore
pink and were very subdued. (Except Baby Thataway, who,
powered by two D batteries in her bottom, could crawl
indefinitely until she ran into a wall or refrigerator.)
I have one sister, Maureen, and no brothers. After school
in the winter, Maureen and I would speak with distaste
of boys who would take off their boots and run around
the classroom in their tube socks. The boys’ socks
were always too big, and a couple inches of sock would
hang off the end of their feet, soaking up the dirty melting
snow from the classroom floor as they slid around. Some
people can’t stand fingernails on a chalkboard.
For my sister and me, it was gray, soggy, flapping tube
socks.
When I babysat, I preferred families that had all girls
or mostly girls. I found little boys to be messy, loud
and generally more trouble than the $2 an hour I was being
paid to take care of them.
So when I imagined myself someday as a mother, the children
in my mind’s eye were always girls.
And now I have two boys.
At 5 and 8, my boys are in their prime in terms of little
boyishness. Today, during church, Liam matter-of-factly
pulled a piece of rope, a glow-in-the-dark frog and a
dead cicada from his front pocket. When my boys run on
grass, dirt or any soft surface, they feel compelled to
slide, fall, tackle or dive. Keeping as much of their
bodies in contact with as much of the earth as possible
while simultaneously moving forward seems to be the goal.
This leads to showers and baths involving heavy scrubbing
of all bendable parts on each boy. Whenever they engage
in pretend play, it’s never about going to the store
or taking care of the house. Someone is always in crisis
and needs to be immediately and loudly rescued by someone
else who has special equipment, special powers or a combination
of the two.
And I love it.
There is something about living with two little boys that
is akin to living with lion cubs. You’re never exactly
sure what’s going to happen next, and your furniture
might get chewed along the way, but you never doubt that
you’re living where the action is.
My friends who have girls about the same age as my boys
say that already, they have dealt with cliques and long,
involved stories of recess-time drama.
Jacob’s idea of a heart-to-heart talk, on the other
hand, is to curl up in bed with me on a Saturday morning
and give me a play-by-play of yesterday’s lunchtime
football game. As someone who remembers her own share
of recess-time drama and cliques, Jacob and Liam’s
world of constant movement and fewer words is refreshing.
My sons’ unceasing drive to run, jump, throw and
catch has awakened the latent athlete within me. If I
want to spend time with my boys, it’s not going
to be quietly stringing beads together for a craft project.
I have developed a pretty good spiral by playing pass
with Jacob, and Liam’s daring relationship with
water has forced me off my towel and into lakes and pools
before I even get to my magazine’s table of contents.
And now, eight solid years into my adventure with my little
XY chromosomes, I have a girl. Teenasia, our foster daughter,
will be 2 next month. She’s been with us since she
was 15 months old, and while she has obviously been a
girl that whole time, babies seem rather androgynous to
me. Teenasia’s upcoming birthday makes me wonder
about the girl aspect of her. Other than the obvious dresses
and bows, so far, toddler Teenasia does not seem so different
from toddler Liam.
But, if Bill and I should have the privilege of seeing
Teenasia grow into a little girl, I wonder what differences
we will see between her and our boys?
Strange as it sounds, I believe raising two boys will
make me a better mother of a little girl. I already knew
about doll buggies, four-square and friendship bracelets.
But Jacob and Liam have brought me to the boys’
side of the playground. It’s rougher and sweatier,
but just as fun. And I want to make sure I introduce any
daughter of mine to this muddy, wild side of childhood.
A girl in our household — either Teenasia or another
foster daughter — will have the advantage of a mom
who has been a girl, but has spent the last decade with
boys. And while I might play dolls with my daughter, because
that is what I know from childhood, I will also teach
her to punt a football, because that is what I know from
parenthood.
I have to believe that the cliques and recess-time dramas
that are part of being a girl will be easier to deal with
if you can come home, run around with your brothers, and
punt a football. And maybe, the mother-daughter relationship,
so tumultuous during the pre-teen and teen years, would
be a little easier after a game of one-on-one.
But there’s only so far I’ll go. We’ll
keep the tube socks out of it.
(Scobey-Polacheck and her husband Bill have two sons,
Jacob and Liam, and a foster daughter, Teenasia. They
belong to SS. Peter and Paul and St. Monica parishes.
Scobey-Polacheck welcomes dialog regarding her column.
E-mail her at <ascobey@hotmail.com>.) |
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