I am a mother of boys. I do not have "children", I have BOYS. If you are a mother of boys (and you know who you are) you understand the implication of my words. Ours is a house of cars and building blocks. The only place you may find a doll is in the tool set- headless of course.
Once, one of my boys waltzed into the kitchen, his fist clenched. "Mommy, I have a present for you!" Ignoring the tell tale suspicious grin, I decided to play along. He probably found a candy in the carpet or perhaps a push-pin. "Show me," I told him, extending my hand. (That move was so incredibly ridiculous; I think I deserved what I got….) He dumped a dead bee into my palm, turned on his heals, and unceremoniously skipped out of the room. They are Boys! They are mud pie baking, dirt flinging, bug stomping, dump a dead bee in my hand boys!
We ride bikes, we go exploring, we investigate! We climb, we dig, we build fortresses out of pebbles. Did you know that if you pluck a lizard's tail, it will grow back again? And if you plug up an ant hole, they will inevitably find somewhere else (in your house) to bore a new one. Birds grow hysterical if they feel trapped and a dead branch will not magically resurrect, even if replanted in an empty baby food canister on your Mommy's newly mopped porch.
I am often stopped by strangers as I walk through the street, followed by my brood in blue. "Wow, you have only boys?" they ask. "ONLY Boys?" I think I'm rather lucky. I wouldn't quite know what to do with a girl. "Hair doing" as a prerequisite for leaving the house? We just slap on the Kipa, tuck the Payos, and go!
I must admit, I do long for at least one pretty-in-pink who will keep me company inside while my husband and "the boys" sojourn in the sukkah. Sometimes I dream about my boys, grown and married, spending all of their time with the 'other side' as I sit by my lonesome- the perpetual shvigger.
In the meantime, my boys are little. We have PLEANTY of time before I could even entertain the possibility of dumping them on some poor unsuspecting kallah. And I need time- lots of it- because there is much to do. They must learn to set the table, to put their cloths in the hamper, to vacuum. Most importantly, I intend to teach them how to communicate. I've already started and I think its going quite well.
Yitzchok Zevi turned to me, his expression grave. " I don't ever want to communicate," he said.
"Why not?" I ask.
"because Abba said that its very bad to communicate."
"Really?", I press him," Are you sure that’s what Abba said?"
"Yes, he said that there was communicate in Russia a while ago and it was very bad for the Jewish people."
My boys are little but the mess they make is very big. I always marvel at how quickly my spotless house turns into a disaster zone. I suppose this is not an aggravation reserved for "mom's of boys" alone. Though, as I watch Aryeh Leib propel himself off the couch into a mass of blankets (or is that my fine shabbos table cloth??) I wonder if perhaps little boys are in a league of their own.
Please visit us but be sure to look before you sit. Look before you sit on a chair lest you park yourself atop a mud creation. Please look before you sit on our toilets- otherwise you may just fall in.
Where is my sugar and spice? it was dumped on the floor because it makes a great surface for roller blading.
We'd love to see you but we cannot take any responsibility for your physical wellbeing while you are in our home. We are too busy protecting ourselves and the baby. We do suggest, however, that you stay clear of their 'landing pad' that were once my throw pillows. I guess there's a reason they are called throw pillows.
They are little boys. Quick close the diaper, no you can't play with knives, please do NOT decapitate that lizard, little boys. They are little boys that I hope- I pray!- will turn into big mentchen. Today they run around the table like wild Indians but I have sweet dreams of a shabbos table surrounded by singing boys (in perfect harmony, of course.) Today they kick and punch but in my dream they are gesticulating at each other- each one trying to convince his brother of the correctness of his pshat.
They are wild, crazy, exhausting, infuriating, boisterous, unruly, energetic little boys. They are little boys who I'm about to take (BY MYSELF!!!!!) on an airplane! G-d help our fellow travellers............
Once, one of my boys waltzed into the kitchen, his fist clenched. "Mommy, I have a present for you!" Ignoring the tell tale suspicious grin, I decided to play along. He probably found a candy in the carpet or perhaps a push-pin. "Show me," I told him, extending my hand. (That move was so incredibly ridiculous; I think I deserved what I got….) He dumped a dead bee into my palm, turned on his heals, and unceremoniously skipped out of the room. They are Boys! They are mud pie baking, dirt flinging, bug stomping, dump a dead bee in my hand boys!
We ride bikes, we go exploring, we investigate! We climb, we dig, we build fortresses out of pebbles. Did you know that if you pluck a lizard's tail, it will grow back again? And if you plug up an ant hole, they will inevitably find somewhere else (in your house) to bore a new one. Birds grow hysterical if they feel trapped and a dead branch will not magically resurrect, even if replanted in an empty baby food canister on your Mommy's newly mopped porch.
I am often stopped by strangers as I walk through the street, followed by my brood in blue. "Wow, you have only boys?" they ask. "ONLY Boys?" I think I'm rather lucky. I wouldn't quite know what to do with a girl. "Hair doing" as a prerequisite for leaving the house? We just slap on the Kipa, tuck the Payos, and go!
I must admit, I do long for at least one pretty-in-pink who will keep me company inside while my husband and "the boys" sojourn in the sukkah. Sometimes I dream about my boys, grown and married, spending all of their time with the 'other side' as I sit by my lonesome- the perpetual shvigger.
In the meantime, my boys are little. We have PLEANTY of time before I could even entertain the possibility of dumping them on some poor unsuspecting kallah. And I need time- lots of it- because there is much to do. They must learn to set the table, to put their cloths in the hamper, to vacuum. Most importantly, I intend to teach them how to communicate. I've already started and I think its going quite well.
Yitzchok Zevi turned to me, his expression grave. " I don't ever want to communicate," he said.
"Why not?" I ask.
"because Abba said that its very bad to communicate."
"Really?", I press him," Are you sure that’s what Abba said?"
"Yes, he said that there was communicate in Russia a while ago and it was very bad for the Jewish people."
My boys are little but the mess they make is very big. I always marvel at how quickly my spotless house turns into a disaster zone. I suppose this is not an aggravation reserved for "mom's of boys" alone. Though, as I watch Aryeh Leib propel himself off the couch into a mass of blankets (or is that my fine shabbos table cloth??) I wonder if perhaps little boys are in a league of their own.Please visit us but be sure to look before you sit. Look before you sit on a chair lest you park yourself atop a mud creation. Please look before you sit on our toilets- otherwise you may just fall in.
Where is my sugar and spice? it was dumped on the floor because it makes a great surface for roller blading.
We'd love to see you but we cannot take any responsibility for your physical wellbeing while you are in our home. We are too busy protecting ourselves and the baby. We do suggest, however, that you stay clear of their 'landing pad' that were once my throw pillows. I guess there's a reason they are called throw pillows.
They are little boys. Quick close the diaper, no you can't play with knives, please do NOT decapitate that lizard, little boys. They are little boys that I hope- I pray!- will turn into big mentchen. Today they run around the table like wild Indians but I have sweet dreams of a shabbos table surrounded by singing boys (in perfect harmony, of course.) Today they kick and punch but in my dream they are gesticulating at each other- each one trying to convince his brother of the correctness of his pshat.
They are wild, crazy, exhausting, infuriating, boisterous, unruly, energetic little boys. They are little boys who I'm about to take (BY MYSELF!!!!!) on an airplane! G-d help our fellow travellers............
