Life with Little Boys: Who Knew Raising Sons Could Be Such Fun?

I could probably write a new essay on this subject every month or so, as life with boys constantly amazes and interests me. In my family growing up, we girls were a vast majority (3 to 1) and life was mostly girl-centered. Frills and skirts and tea parties and crafts and dolls and making fairy houses in the woods.

My boys do not make fairy houses. If they found one, they'd probably stomp on it. We don't have a "Whack the groundhog" game, but just this morning Asrat came up with his own equivalent: "Stomp the Worms". I lifted up and outdoor rug and found quite a large commune of "squirmies" which he promptly and delightedly set about to stomping. There is no "Oh, poor worm!" attitude around here. It's all testosterone. Smoosh them worms!

With boys, the plastic lid of the turtle sandbox is never just a plastic lid. It's a trampoline (providing good lift for a 35 pound kid), a hill to jump off, a bike jump, a tractor jump, and turned on it's back, a little boy can spend lots of time wibble-wobbling in it. I don't really need a lawnmower, or a goat. All I have to do is turn the boys loose in our postage-stamp back yard, and they will decimate the grass in their "harvesting" work, pulling it up and distributing it into the garden, the kitchen, and their hair.

We don't have tea-parties. We have spaghetti eating contests. No dainty china cups here, no little fingers politely extended. With boys it's grab-a-handful-of-noodles-and-see-how-far-you-can-spread-them. Noodles and sauce in the hair, down the back, or between the toes get extra points.

My signature in some forums bears the funny: "Boy (n.): a noise with dirt on it". I laughed and sputtered the first time I read it, and it still makes me chuckle every time I see it. As my boys get older, they embody that phrase more and more. That's not to say that they're unintelligent, or incapable of sitting quietly and enjoying a good book. It's just that they are so active and phsyical that my mind has already defined "Boy" as having everything to do with noise, dirt, mud, cars, noise, more dirt, more noise, etc.

There is something special about love from boys too. It's a different kind of love. All kisses are laced with grains of dirt and hugs leave muddy finger prints on my skirt. They bring me gifts of stones and crushed flowers. But even though they are so busy being boys, they never forget to love. Asrat tells me all his wonderful, adventurous dreams (Last night Grandpa flew Asrat to college in an airplane!), because he knows I'll enjoy hearing about them. And he thanks me without prompting for some of the little things I do for him.

Gebreyesus tests his strength by giving me "bear hugs", and giggles delightedly when I squeeze him back. Both boys have their moments of hollering and rebellion, but that quickly dissipates and soon they are all smiles and boyish affection again. They grow outwardly more handsome everyday, but it's the inside I'm concerned about, and so far, they are growing more inner beauty as well.

They're learning to corall their maleness just a little bit, and turn it into strength and helpfulness, like this afternoon when Asrat choose to take his little brother on a ride in the sled, rather than drive the tractor over him. Little things like that give me hope for the future, and help me look forward to their growing up all the more. I can imagine them protecting their younger siblings, opening doors for me, working with their father, playing ball together, eating incredible mounds of food every day, and every once in a while, patting me on the head, and saying "Love ya', mom" before they run out the door to expend some more energy.