Just a few weeks ago I was picking up my older two boys from school, I was chatting with a teacher right by the double glass doors that lead out to the school pick-up line. The bell had just rung and the sidewalk was filled with screaming happy kids running to see their parents. As I casually glanced out the window, I saw my 3-year-old’s bare buns facing me… meaning he was relieving himself right off the curb into the carpool line! I screamed, ran outside, grabbed him and hauled him to the car in complete embarrassment.
The other two followed, giggling and giddy at the situation that had just unfolded. Man, I thought BOYS. I came to the conclusion that it had probably come down to the fact that I did not specifically say, “boys we do not pee off the curb in the pick-up line at school (or any other curb for that matter!).”
I mean seriously, sometimes I have to spell this stuff out. I find myself having conversations like, “Boys please put clean socks on in the morning, put your dirty socks in the laundry.”
“No you can’t wear that shirt with Cheeto stains all over it for the 4th time this week.”
“Boys, do you care that you have pasta sauce smothered all over your face? Can’t you feel that?”
“Boys do your backpacks really need to be turned into swinging weapons?”
“Did you wash your hands? Let me smell them. Go back and wash your hands, yes, with soap.”
“Boys, belching and picking your nose is not funny, and please for the love, stop wiping your boogers all over the wall by your bed, do y’all need to sleep with kleenex’s???”
In spite of all this, I love my boys more and more. They make me smile and laugh…mostly inside, as I’m trying to maintain order and discipline for my all-boy crew (sometimes I count Scotty in that crew).
The other day, I was walking with all three boys into the grocery store, I reached for my oldest son Grady’s hand while walking inside and without a thought he let go, he did not want to hold my hand. It made me sad for a moment, then I reminded myself that he is growing up and he will need my love in whole other way now. I then turned to argue with my 3-year-old about why we hold hands in parking lots, then out of the blue, my 6-year-old walked over and grabbed my hand, just to hold. I felt the way his dirty little hand fit in mine, his little fingers barely grasping on. My heart was so full, and I was reminded how lucky I am to be a boy-mom, how blessed to love them at all the different stages of their lives.
My 3-year-old loves to give me morning kisses and hugs and I need to soak those hugs and kisses up knowing that someday (sooner than I’d like) he will be too old to hold my hand, just like his brother.