Boys just want to have fun
Excuse the mess in the boys’ room. I had to get a quick snapshot of Spiderman with Ryland’s sock over its head before Ryan discovered what his little brother did to his “action figure.” It’s not a doll, it’s an action figure. There are no dolls around the house because I don’t have any daughters, only sons.
Only in a house with sons will you see something like this. (Am I right, parents out there with daughters?) Only in a house with sons will you constantly hear kids talking about their private parts casually. Where else will you hear, “Mommy, Ryland is yucky. He showed his ‘titoy’ to our cousins.” Or “Mommy, you want to see my ‘titoy’? It’s standing up.” Only in a house with sons will you hear kids comparing their farts. The ones with sound are odourless and the soundless ones are stink bombs.
So you see, it’s fun to live with boys.
I’ve written the post below a while back.
I only have sons and I don’t know what it’s like to have a daughter. I may have a slight idea because I was one of two daughters and I grew up with cousins who were mostly girls.
I’ve often been asked what it’s like to raise three boys and I usually say that I think it’s not that much different from raising girls. Of course, we don’t have Barbie dolls and frilly dresses hanging around the house. Instead, we have Hot Wheels cars, Lego pieces and action figures which we always find in every nook and corner of the house in spite of the boxes, drawers and containers that have been set aside for these toys.
My sister has daughters and I get a glimpse of how it is to have girls. I think it was about two or three weeks ago when I was at sis’ place. My nine-year old niece, Ancie, asked her Nanay if she could hug me, for no reason at all. Her Nanay said yes and Ancie hugged me. I hugged her back. I thought that was so sweet.
And that is one thing where boys are different from girls.
Last week, when R and I went to Ryan’s basketball practice, I noticed that Ryan (he’s 10 years old) pulled his arm away from mine when I was holding him as we crossed the street. It happened twice that day. Was it because he didn’t want people to see that his Mommy was holding him?
I do understand that he’s growing up and he’s starting to pull away, like his Kuya did. I should have been used to this by now but sometimes I still feel that pinch in my heart when it happens.
On the other hand, my seven-year old Ryland still lets me hold his hand when we go to his basketball practice/games or when we are out shopping or crossing the street. And you bet that I’m gonna hold on to him as long as he will let me.
Entry filed under: Raising the 3Rs.