No Sugar and Spice, But Life Is Still Nice

I am a mother of three boys.  When you add a husband and male dog into the mix, I am clearly a woman swimming in a sea of testosterone.  I am a girly girl living in a guys’ world.  I’m a dress-wearing, hair-curling, pink-loving kind of gal.  I love to shop and decorate and make crafts. I adore antique furniture and vintage hats and gloves.  I collect teacups and bits and pieces of sterling silver.  I have not one but four sets of china.  I am just about as girly as it gets.

I love my boys with all of my heart and when I found out my third baby was going to be a boy, I tried not to let it bother me.  I already had two boys whom I adore and knew that my third boy would be just as amazing as the first two, yet deep down inside I felt a strange pain clawing its way up to the surface.  Several days later, it hit me that I was not having a little girl and my world was tipped off of its axis.  How could this be?  How could I not have a daughter?  Who would I pass all of my girly antiques on to one day when I was old and gray?  I would never have a daughter to go shopping with or go to lunch with.  I would never go prom dress shopping or have “the talk” with my little girl.  I would never stand next to my daughter in the delivery room just like my mom did with me all three times.  I would never have all of the experiences I have had with my mom and grandmother.  As these facts became clear to me, I became depressed and guilty.  I was depressed that I would be missing out on the mother-daughter relationship I had always dreamed about.  I felt guilty for being disappointed that the beautiful, wonderful, healthy baby in my belly was a boy.

I struggled and cried in secret.  I was ashamed of my feelings.  And then after a few days of really looking into myself, I came to the realization that it was and is ok to feel that way.  There is nothing wrong for having wanted a daughter and in the end I allowed myself to mourn the relationship I will never have.  I gave myself time to grieve and reflect on my feelings and past expectation.  After a few weeks, I came out on the other end feeling so much better and ready to parent my three boys in a way that will make them wonderful husbands to someone else’s daughters.  I realized that having three healthy, happy, and wonderful sons is my path in life.  I was put on this earth to teach my boys how to treat a woman right and how to live their lives with respect and dignity.  And lucky for my boys and me, I have a wonderful husband who consistently sets just such an example for them.

The other day, my mom spent the day tending to and laying in bed with my sick grandmother.  They talked about jewelery and clothes and what was on QVC.  Sometimes they laid in silence, both lost in their memories.  My mom told me it was something just a mother and daughter could do together.  While I was happy that my mom and grandmother shared that time together, the statement instantly hit me in the heart.  I cannot deny my disappointment that I will not get to experience these same moments with my own daughter.  I don’t think that it is something I will ever get over.  But I would never, ever trade my beautiful boys and all of the amazing moments we share now and will share in the future for anything.

From Never Land to Kindergarten

Last week my oldest son started kindergarten.  As a teacher, I have been through the first day of school lots of times, but experiencing the beginning of the school year with my own child has been surreal.  My beautiful baby is now in school.  I can barely wrap my brain around that fact.  It seems like just last month he was learning to walk in our front yard and last Monday I walked him to school.

The morning was filled with nervous anticipation.  All five of us made the two block quest to our local elementary school.  We were like a parade led by my excited little boy.  He sang "You Can Fly" from Peter Pan the entire way to school.  It was precious and tore at my heart at the same time.  How ironic that my son was singing the song that contained the very instructions Wendy, Michael, and John needed to go to a place where they would never have to grow up as he was about to mark a very defining milestone of maturity in his life.  As we walked, I gripped his hand tighter and tighter, wishing and hoping to stop time.  I wanted to fly away with him to a place where he wouldn't grow up and would be my baby forever and ever.

Alas, we arrived at the school.  No magic pixie dusk ever took us away.  Instead, he joined the other 30 children in his class for one last good bye to Mommy and Daddy and a first hello to his new big boy world.  I hid my tears behind my big, dark sunglasses and then looked down at my other two boys wondering how I could get pixie dust in time to go to Never Land with them before they started kindergarten.

Until then, I'm searching for Tinker Bell.  If you find her, please tell her to stop by my house.

I Laid Down the Gauntlet

Tonight, I laid down the gauntlet with my boys. Most nights I am a short-order cook whipping up customized meals in order to stave off whines and complaints. Tonight, I made a dinner that both of the boys said that they wanted. After taking eating about half of his dinner, A refused to eat anymore and B poured half of his cup of milk into his dinner. This meal was the meal that pushed me over the edge; I had had just about enough. They began asking for just about anything else than the food I had cooked--oatmeal, cheese, hot dogs, you name it. Usually, I would just give in, but not tonight. Nope. No more giving in and no more Mrs. Nice Mommy. From now on, you eat what I cook and that's it.

Tomorrow night is meatloaf night. My meatloaf isn't bad. If the boys don't eat their dinner and want something else, that's just tough. I will wrap it up and they can have the leftovers the next night. My cooking isn't amazing but it's not gross. I don't want to raise picky eaters and I can prepare three or more dinners every night. I've taken a stand!

This Time of Year

Yesterday was the last day of school for our school district and there's something about this time of year that makes me so emotional. Today I committed the act I try to avoid at all costs: driving by our local high school when it is lunch time or when school has just gotten out. Today I drove by as school got out. Ugh! It takes at least five minutes to go from one end of the school to the other when this unfortunate navigational misfortune takes place. My blood typically boils when the kids refuse to let the cars pass and take forever to walk in the crosswalks, but today was a bit different.

As my SUV slowly crawled down the street, I was instantly transported back to my years at Pacifica High School and my own personal feelings that came with the end of the year. I loved seeing the yearbooks my friends and I had worked so hard designing in our fellow students' hands. I loved the idea of three months of freedom. I adored that excitement of feeling full of possibilities and the fresh slate of the following school year.

And within that five minute crawl past the high school, my eyes fell upon a group of boys talking. I imagined they were making plans for the summer. Swimming at one boy's pool perhaps? Summer jobs? Maybe a road trip or what movies they wanted to see together. Then I imagined these boys being MY boys and my eyes welled with tears. They will go to this high school one day. In the not-so-distant future, they will be sharing last-day-of-school pats on the back with a yearbook under one arm. One day, my boys will be like these boys making excited plans for the future, cracking jokes, and goofing around. They'll be tall and gangly, but have fabulous skin, of course. I tried to pick out which kids my kids will look like and who will make up their group of friends. Will they hang out with the kids on the steps, the kids under the tree, or that big group on the corner. I then slipped into a fairy tale in which my boys want my husband and me to play an active roll in their clubs or teams--a time when I'll wear Burroughs High School red to their games and maybe wear their letterman jacket as I sit in the stands...if they haven't already loaned it to some (stupid) girl.

All of this happened in the span of five minutes. When I pressed the brake pedal at the final stop sign at the corner of the school, I glanced into my back seat and saw three beautiful little boys all in some sort of car seat or booster. Their cheeks are still chubby with baby fat and they all have some sort of shmutz on their faces--even the littlest one had a little dried milk on his chin. As I placed my foot on the accelerator I was instantly thankful for the precious days I have with my little boys and I vowed to treasure the present and look forward to the future.

Because That's How I Roll

Do you hate those people with all of the plastic toys in the front yard? So white trash, right? Well, here's my front yard today.


I hate me too. Here's the thing. I can't get an internet signal in the backyard, so this morning I dragged all of my kids' crap stuff to the front yard so I could sit on my porch in the cool So Cal breeze and relish in the discomfort of the sweet, sweet baby who is late at coming out early and sip juice boxes.

On top of it all, my kids think I'm super cool for setting up a different place to play with the same old junk. I'm pretty ok with life's little victories.

A Pirate's Life for Me

My boys had an awesome conversation the other day. Here's how it went down.

My son Aidan (4 1/2 years) was getting dressed for the day in the family room. My little guy, Brandon, walked in and walked right up to his brother to watch him when Aidan exclaimed, "Brandon! I'm getting dressed. You need to give me some PRIVACY!"

Brandon (2 years), looked his brother square in the face and said, "Piracy?! Oh, ok!" Brandon then turned and ran into his room. He returned about 30 seconds later with a handful of pirate figures and their accessories.

Aidan was not amused.