Snakes and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails (or, Little Boys are from Mars and Mommies are from Venus)

The day that a blurry sonogram revealed that our firstborn, Jonah, was a little boy, I remember feeling infinitely relieved. Females, to be really honest, tend to make me nervous. We're complicated and emotional. We tend to over-analyze things. You never can tell what we're really thinking and well... sometimes we're just bitchy. So I breathed a peaceful sigh when I learned that I would be a mother of a male. Thank the Lord.

Three years later, when another sonogram revealed a second little boy in my belly, I grinned. Brothers. I loved the idea of the two of them growing up side by side, doing boy things together. Despite many others' concerns that I might have wanted this second (and last) baby to be a girl, I was purely thrilled. I would never have to deal with time-consuming little girl hair-styles or annoying teen girl drama. Yes.

But those years ago, I knew nothing about the wild realities of mothering tiny men. These days, my life involves dodging crashing Matchbox cars that forever litter our floor. Someone always seems to be roaring like a dinosaur or mock wailing ("Ahhhhhh!") as they fall to the ground, or "pew, pew"ing (the universal sound for small boys shooting a pretend gun). Tackling is an actual sport itself around here.

People who claim that there are no differences between genders, that all our male/female variances are purely social constructs, have clearly never spent a day with preschoolers. Leave two four-year old girls alone and when checked on, they will likely be found demurely sipping imaginary tea or singing sweetly to a doll. Boys? The ones I know would likely be jumping off of the top of the dresser onto the guest bed or tackling each other while yelling things like, "Dr. Doom, you will never defeat me!".

Little boys like to be naked, and like their adult counterparts, they like their penises. Jonah and Eli's current favorite bath time game involves scooting around the tub in apparently hilarious attempts to grab each other's genetalia. Seriously? And it doesn't stop there. The words, "Eli, please take your lips off of your brother's bottom" have actually come out of my mouth. I am fairly certain that my friends with little girls do not deal with this.

Little boys, despite all my attempts to deter it, like weapons. They really like them. We have so far banned any toy guns in our household, but these little guys seem able to turn just about anything into a dangerous weapon. No guns around? A stick, a ruler, or even a piece of cardboard (Jonah's latest passion) will certainly suffice. At least they're creative, I guess.

I have a theory regarding the mysterious force of nature many child experts refer to as "boy energy". Boy energy is the stuff that makes little guys run around like wild animals while the girls sit quietly and roll their eyes. I firmly believe that boy energy, unlike mom energy, is not just multiplied when several boys get together; it is exponentially increased. One little boy? Not too rowdy as he sits peacefully and plays. Two little boys? The roughhousing and running begins. Three little boys? Full-scale destruction can ensue if said boy energy is not carefully harnessed.

However, while I do so often find myself completely perplexed at the actions of my rowdy little men, like so many moms of boys have done before me, most days, in spite of myself, I take a deep breath and dive right into the chaos. Because that's what it means to be a parent, right? To fully embrace who and what your children are, even when they seem so different from ourselves. Jonah's current infatuation, like many little boys his age, is Star Wars. He spends full afternoons building lego starfighters and he rarely visits the local playground without his light saber in tow. So of course, when it came time to choose his Halloween costume, he wanted to be Luke Skywalker. He even has the perfect shaggy blond haircut. Now, I'm not a big dresser-upper at Halloween; it's mostly just too much silly work for my overly pragmatic mind to take on. I'm also not so much of a Star Wars fan; my five-year old's knowledge and passion for the story is clearly superior. But this year, Jonah's great Halloween wish was for me to go as Princess Leia, so we could be a real Rebel Alliance pair. And you better believe that this mama made a white dress out of a sheet and put my hair in two cinnamon roll-style buns, and my little Jedi and I walked hand in hand down the street in all our Star Wars glory.

In this little boy world, may the Force be with me.

Beautiful Boy: A letter to Eli on his 2nd birthday

Eli at just 6 months old... my how you've grown!

Several months ago, I posted a letter I wrote to Jonah as he was starting preschool. I wanted to capture a particular moment in time in Jonah's life as well as my own, a snapshot of who we both were at that moment of our mother/child journey. I received lots of encouraging feedback about that post, but several people wondered about when Eli might have his own letter, too. I figure that his 2nd birthday is as good a time as any to attempt to wrap my pen (or keybard, as it may be) around my unique and wonderful youngest boy.

To my amazing Eli,

It was just two years ago this morning that you made your grand entrance into this world, already looking robust and powerful, not much like a typical newborn at all. Even then, I knew you had such a strong spirit, just brimming with life and all its potential. In those early days, I struggled so much in my role as your mother, constantly mourning the fact that I just didn't have more hands, more hours in the day, and a bigger lap to keep both you and Jonah happy. I recalled the hours of entranced gazing at each other that Jonah and I had experienced when he was so tiny, but as an overwhelmed new mom of two, I was heartbreakingly aware that you and missed out on many of those quiet moments. The middle of the night feedings were our time... just you and me and the glorious moonlight shining in the windows, completely at peace. I think I treasured to those quiet moments with you all the more, knowing just how fleeting they would be.

At less than three months, you discovered that you could roll over on your own, and nothing has stopped you from your fierce explorations in the days since. You are child who is into everything! Your little hands just MUST reach out to touch it all, from the contents of all the kitchen cupboards to the pigtails of poor unsuspecting little girls. You climb everything you can, you hate to be carried these days, and you rarely walk; this little man needs to run! You insisted on feeding yourself at only 10 months old, urging to me grab the stain remover and just prepare for disaster - on your clothes, on the walls, on the floor. You love all things gooey or messy or disgusting. Last summer, you sauntered up to your dad in the back yard with a little brown dog turd in your hand and proudly proclaimed, "Poop!". You couldn't have looked happier.

You adore music, and I've quickly learned that with you, the proper musical accompaniment can quickly diffuse even the most difficult of situations. You play a mean air guitar, and you dance, well, like the lip-biting little white man that you are. For the past few months, you have been fully obsessed with Ziggy Marley's "Give a Little Love". You'll beg, "More, love!" over and over and you zealously belt out all you can with your caveman speech skills: "Give... love. Have... hope. Make... world... better. Try... more. Harder... b'fore. Do... t'gether.... Sing it!". You little voice is amazingly sweet, particularly for such a boisterous little man. I wish I could just bottle it up and play it back when the world seems hard, because that voice is just pure joy, plain and simple.

You are fiercely independent, much more so than your older brother. For Jonah in his first few years of life, I was the center of the universe... Jonah wanted all mommy, only feeling truly safe when I was within his sight. But you, my little E, are so different. You are brave and bold and rarely clingy. For you, I am a more of a harbor, a safe place to return when the big kids are mean or Mr. Noodle on Sesame Street scares you (and oddly, he does!)... you come back to me for a few snuggles and a bit of reassurance, but then you're off again, ready for your next adventure. You stride into Jonah's preschool with such comical confidence when we pick him up each day. You give high fives and say hello to all the teachers and students and parents by name as if you were a tiny principal greeting the school, and then you sign yourself in with a picture on the bulletin board by Jonah's classroom door. One mother commented to me one day, "That child is a FORCE to be reckoned with!". You certainly are.

As you grow, I have a feeling you will challenge me in more ways than I can imagine. I know that finding appropriate outlets for all those big feelings and big plans is sometimes difficult for you, and I promise to do the best that I can to help you safely embrace all this wildness in a way that nurtures your bold spirit and doesn't shut you down. You are just so full of life, and you are teaching me more than I ever realized I needed to know.

So go explore, little one. I'll be here when you need me, with all the love this heart can hold.

Little Boys are Like Tomatoes... :)

I've been a mother for over four years now, but I've only been a gardener for about four months.  When my husband and I finally bought our first home in the spring, we had big dreams for our little yard.  We imagined lush gardens teeming with perennials, vegetables, berries, native grasses... all cultivated by our own green thumbs.  We set to work planting as soon as we could, relishing each trip to the local nursery, carefully choosing the best amendments for our soil, pouring over plant guides, designing layouts, getting our hands nice and dirty.  We watered, we composted, we weeded, we pruned, we mulched.  

But really, we had no idea what we were doing.

And within a few weeks, our promising garden withered like an old man who had spent too much time in the suntan oil.  

We searched in books and consulted neighbors and family, all of whom seemed to have a different opinion.  

"More water, definitely."

"Less water.  You're drowning them."  

"Must be the bad soil.  Dig it all out and start over."

But then one day, miraculously, the sage started to perk up.  The tomatoes produced some flowers.  The strawberries gave us a few sweet fruits.  It was so strange, because we really were so paralyzed by all the advice that we didn't actually DO anything to try to improve our dying plot.  We're still not quite sure what happened, but as the summer has progressed, our little garden has survived, and even sometimes thrived.  At the moment, we're bombarded by more tomatoes than we know what to do with.  Sure, it's certainly not worthy of master gardener status, but it's ours, and we think it's pretty beautiful.

And I'm noticing that, at least for me, the process of learning to be a parent is a lot like learning to be a gardener.  These little living beings are placed in your care, and sometimes, they are lovely and you soak up the beauty and joy of the raising them.  But just as often, it seems, despite your best intentions, you flail and you do the wrong thing sometimes, and you feel as if, you've ruined these little people for life.  People give you all kinds of advice, but mostly, it doesn't help much.  Still, like our little garden, and even in spite of their parents at times, these kids keep thriving, and you praise God that many things are just way beyond our control.  

My kids like this old folk song I think Woody Guthrie sang, which seems to give voice to lots of what I feel about being a mom trying to raise little men in a tricky world.   

Inch by inch, row by row
Gonna make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
And a piece of fertile ground
Inch by inch, row by row
Someone bless these seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below
'Til the rain comes tumbling down

Pulling weeds and pickin' stones
Man is made from dreams and bones
I feel the need to grow my own
'Cause the time is close at hand
Grain for grain, sun and rain
Find my way in nature's chain
Tune my body and my brain
To the music from the land

Plant your rows straight and long
Strengthen them with pray'r and song
Mother Earth will make you strong
If you give her love and care
Old crow watchin' hungrily
From his perch in yonder tree
In my garden I'm as free
As that feathered thief up there

Inch by inch, row by row
Gonna make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
And a piece of fertile ground
Inch by inch, row by row
Someone bless the seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below
'Til the rain comes tumbling down

So I've decided to name this blog "Inch by Inch", which is the way my little boys and I are growing these days.  Slowly but surely, in spite of weeds and stones and old crows.  Those of you who are reading my blog hoping for quick family updates and always happy quips will be sorely disappointed, I'm sure.  I've decided to write not so much to document the daily happenings of our family as to process my own experiences of my days as a stay at home mom, and to force myself into some reflection.  Too many days, I tuck the kiddos to bed and plop in front of the TV for the night, neglecting to acknowledge the little miracles that occurred in my boys and in myself that day.  Inch by inch, I'm learning that the process of raising them is changing me, too.  Some days this is joyous and some days it's torturous, but it's always an adventure.  Thanks for joining me.    

Now, off to pull some weeds...