Can I call for a Time Out?!
It seems like just yesterday that big brother, Nate was crawling along side little brother, Alex. Now, big brother, Alex is crawling along side baby brother, Seth.
Time really scares the beejeebers out of me sometimes! I wonder why there are days that seem like they'll never end. And, then there are days that are over before I even realize they began. Even though I think we have plenty of time to teach our boys about life, in reality it's only 18 very, very, very short years. It makes me want to push the pause button, open up their minds and hearts and just pour in every ounce of knowledge and wisdom that I have to offer about life, the choices we make in this life and how those choices impact their life after this one. Before I know it, we will have 3 big teenaged boys. I pray that God will give us everything we could possibly need to raise these sweet little boys into Godly young men. It makes me so sad for my sweet little boys to grow up. A friend sent me a little blip written by a mother of boys. And, everytime I read it, it makes me cry. Thanks, Jen!
Maybe I should share it for the mothers of boys out there who need to hug their sweet little boys a little tighter today!
Crying the little-boy blues
By MARY JACOBS / DMN Contributor
Somebody stole my little boy. Somebody came into the house one night and snatched my sweet, tow-headed little fellow, and replaced him with a big beast of a guy with sprawling limbs, large feet and a deep voice that mostly says only two words: "Mom. Food."
Apparently this happens all the time, but I was unprepared. Nobody explained how, when your little boy morphs into a big 17-year-old boy, it leaves you bewildered and a little sad.
Nobody warned me that my son's group of little friends, the ones who giggled and raced through the house and played Thomas the Tank Engine, would one day disappear, like mist on a summer morning. They'd be replaced by a small herd of dinosaur-like males, lumbering about the house, foraging for food.
And nobody explained that, despite having bathed his little naked body thousands of times, I'd feel slightly squeamish when my son slouches into the kitchen, shirtless, in the morning, scratching his chest with one hand and bachelor-drinking juice straight from the carton with the other.
Rationally, of course, I knew my son would grow up, but at some level, I'm not sure I'll ever wrap my head around it. Every morning, I watch him saunter out to his car, football gear slung over his shoulder, and I can't quite feature that that is the same boy who loved to eat pancakes for "breaknast," who called me Mama and wore alligator jammies.
My daughter is 14 and almost as tall as me now, but somehow the transition doesn't feel so jarring. Maybe because she's going through the same changes I did, maybe because we still share our love of ballet and clothes, or maybe just because she's not driving yet.
Of course there are new wonders and surprises that come with this testosterone-transformed boy. I get to needle Dad that our boy could whup him any day. I take much pleasure in my son's prowess in physics and lacrosse. And he delights me daily with his sharp wit. (Mom: "Why do you listen to rap music? Why do you put such junk in one ear, while we're paying so much for tuition to put good stuff in the other?" Son: "Equilibrium?")
And sometimes it feels like old times . One night last summer, my son got together with buddies he's known since age 3. They'd all gotten their first cars within the same few weeks. They parked them in front of our house, hoods up, and strutted and gloated and whooped over their new "beasts." If men and boys differ only with the price of their toys, maybe my little boy isn't completely lost.
When my kids were little, older folks would say things such as, "Enjoy these days. They go so fast." And of course, I didn't believe them. Some days I thought they'd never end - such as when a baby was teething or my thoughts were interrupted for the 82nd time by a request for juice.
But those days did end, and now there are days when I realize I'm grieving for my lost little boy. I see mommies with sweet-faced toddlers in the store, and I blink back tears. Or I stare, unable to take my eyes off the little one.
"I used to have a little boy," I say. And when the mom looks up with an expression of consternation, I explain: "Now I have a big boy. A tall, hungry boy with big feet."
And of course, I love that young man who occupies my little boy's bedroom. But I miss the little boy. And I think I'll miss him for the rest of my life.
Apparently this happens all the time, but I was unprepared. Nobody explained how, when your little boy morphs into a big 17-year-old boy, it leaves you bewildered and a little sad.
Nobody warned me that my son's group of little friends, the ones who giggled and raced through the house and played Thomas the Tank Engine, would one day disappear, like mist on a summer morning. They'd be replaced by a small herd of dinosaur-like males, lumbering about the house, foraging for food.
And nobody explained that, despite having bathed his little naked body thousands of times, I'd feel slightly squeamish when my son slouches into the kitchen, shirtless, in the morning, scratching his chest with one hand and bachelor-drinking juice straight from the carton with the other.
Rationally, of course, I knew my son would grow up, but at some level, I'm not sure I'll ever wrap my head around it. Every morning, I watch him saunter out to his car, football gear slung over his shoulder, and I can't quite feature that that is the same boy who loved to eat pancakes for "breaknast," who called me Mama and wore alligator jammies.
My daughter is 14 and almost as tall as me now, but somehow the transition doesn't feel so jarring. Maybe because she's going through the same changes I did, maybe because we still share our love of ballet and clothes, or maybe just because she's not driving yet.
Of course there are new wonders and surprises that come with this testosterone-transformed boy. I get to needle Dad that our boy could whup him any day. I take much pleasure in my son's prowess in physics and lacrosse. And he delights me daily with his sharp wit. (Mom: "Why do you listen to rap music? Why do you put such junk in one ear, while we're paying so much for tuition to put good stuff in the other?" Son: "Equilibrium?")
And sometimes it feels like old times . One night last summer, my son got together with buddies he's known since age 3. They'd all gotten their first cars within the same few weeks. They parked them in front of our house, hoods up, and strutted and gloated and whooped over their new "beasts." If men and boys differ only with the price of their toys, maybe my little boy isn't completely lost.
When my kids were little, older folks would say things such as, "Enjoy these days. They go so fast." And of course, I didn't believe them. Some days I thought they'd never end - such as when a baby was teething or my thoughts were interrupted for the 82nd time by a request for juice.
But those days did end, and now there are days when I realize I'm grieving for my lost little boy. I see mommies with sweet-faced toddlers in the store, and I blink back tears. Or I stare, unable to take my eyes off the little one.
"I used to have a little boy," I say. And when the mom looks up with an expression of consternation, I explain: "Now I have a big boy. A tall, hungry boy with big feet."
And of course, I love that young man who occupies my little boy's bedroom. But I miss the little boy. And I think I'll miss him for the rest of my life.
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