7-17-02 Side Streets, Kimra Traynor Herb
There are Advantages for Boys
By Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features
When my cousin Deb found out she was expecting her second son, she came to me for advice. After all, I am the mother of all testosterone- half responsible for putting three more males on this earth. Still reeling from the news that she would once again by pass the little pink dresses for more Thomas the Tank Engine overalls, Deb wonders how one gets through the experience of raising a bunch of men. Fifteen years into the experiment, I am so far holding up okay. My boys now include a nearly six foot tall almost fifteen year old who needs to be reminded to shave before church, a thirteen year old loverboy who fluctuates between childhood and manhood, depending upon the hour, and an overly mature six year old who has no idea whatsoever that he is not as old as his two brothers. Add to that fray my hubby, whose idea of a "good time" is spending a few hours at the Home Depot, and you get a glimpse into my life.
"I couldn't
be happier." I told her, when confronted about this odd-woman out situation
at my home.
She stared at
me. "My mom used to say," she said, "that you could always tell
the women who had only sons." Deb shrugged her almond-colored shoulders and
glanced at the mound of tummy which housed boy #2. "They were......"
her voice trailed off, "you know......"
"Masculine?"
I offered. "She-males? Men-women?"
"Exactly."
She seemed relieved at not having to say the words. I, on the other hand, had no
problem with it. Especially because, well, frankly, both Deb and I are nowhere
near even the tiniest bit masculine. I voiced to her that we were probably the
two girliest girls on the planet; a couple of the most frou-frou pampered pets
who didn't mind bringing home the bacon and frying it up in the pan, but if
someone else could do it, well, that was fine too. Better, actually.
"I've never
had girls." I told Deb, "so I really don't know what I am
missing." I relayed that when the boys were born, after the first boy, I
kept hoping that I would have a girl, mainly, as I remembered, so I could buy
something PINK and FRILLY. I had some abstract fantasy of my daughter and myself
dressed in matching clothing, sharing secrets (and later makeup tips) and during
this ongoing fantasy; I would organize fun and fanciful pajama parties during
which my daughter's friends would BEG me to stay (I would be that much fun).
Instead, my reality is a daily pool full of bass-voiced, screaming boys who
splash, fight, yell at the top of their lungs. They never beg me to stay, when I
deliver the tons of snacks they can consume in the blink of an eye....... I am
NOT that much fun, it seems, to a bunch of boys.
"It's fine
with me." I told Deb, as I try to figure out the words to explain mothering
growing young men. "Having all boys means..... getting to go into the
Ladies' room alone when we are on a family trip." This is one of the
highlights, for me, of having all boys. When we go somewhere, from the time my
boys were old enough to use the restroom, I would shuttle them off to my
husband, who would be holding one by each hand and sternly warning them to
"NOT TOUCH ANYTHING!" as he shuffled them off to the bathroom.
Meanwhile, I, unencumbered by little children, could use the restroom in peace,
touch up my make-up and wash extensively before he would emerge, flushed and
worn out, from the Men's room.
The best part
about having boys, though, has got to be the same as the best part about having
girls. The very best part; the essence of the job (and some days..... what a job
it is!) is just the love. Watching my sons grow from dependent little babies to
self-sufficient, capable young men has been the highlight of my life. Their
successes are mine; their hurts my own as well. And when one of those big boys
wraps me in a giant bear hug and says, "I love you, Mom," or when my
little guys peppers my face with thousands of kisses; well, those are the time
when I wouldn't trade my testosterone crowd for all the frilly little dressed
girls in the world.
"And,"
I told Deb, as we watched her first son driving a train around the track, and
without looking too pointedly at my third son, "you could always try for a
third time."