The Joys of Boys

Being a mother to boys has been such an exercise in humility for me over the years. 

When it was just me and my little girls--and an infant son--I would observe the puffing, red-faced mothers of young boys as they pulled their sons down from Sunday School chalkboards, dabbed mud from the knees of  little dress pants in the parking lot, and lunged down the entire length of the coat rack in the church foyer in a futile effort to prevent Junior from clanging all 200 metal hangers together.  

My smiles were kind, and appropriately laced with a twinkle of understanding, but underneath them was the smug conviction that "if only they used MY parenting system, they could have such PEACE."  

I dispensed parenting advice that makes me cringe to think about.  

I floated above the chaos in those halcyon days, serenely wheeling my girls in the grocery cart while listening to their happy banter, watching them play dolls on the couch while I made dinner every night, even taking them on a four hour garden bus tour all by myself when they were four and six, and Elijah was a babe-in-arms.  

I was 40 years younger than most of the other travelers on that particular tour, and I basked in the warmth of their compliments about my well-behaved children.  The patience and stamina of my girls for being so young!  My bravery for taking them all out alone!

Oh yes.  

And now I am so, so, so blessed to have four boys and be completely disabused of the idea that I know what I am doing.  

I am incompetent.  I can't predict what will work and what won't. 

Ninety percent of the time, I don't have a clue what is happening in their heads.  (Nor do they, I'm pretty sure.)

Let's just take today.  Please.  

Take it somewhere and bury it.

After Memory Master prep dominated most of last week, I was determined to get back "on schedule"  (Ha ha ha ha...when will she figure out that the "schedule" only exists in her head and under the big orange magnet on the front of the fridge?)

Anyhoo, I sat down with Jude (age 5) first thing, pulled out his math and began with the story problems.   

Me:  "Dad has three pens.  Kim has 2 pens.  How many pens do they have altogether?
 
Jude:  "What color are the pens?"

Me:  "Well, it doesn't really matter what color they were, what they want to know is 'how many are there altogether'."

Jude:  "Well why do they need so many pens?"

Me:  "I don't know.  Maybe they collect pens.  So, how many are there?"

Jude: "Well Dad has more than three pens, and who is Kim?  Do we know her?"

Me:  " (Sigh)  Let's talk about ducks.  OK?  Eight ducks are in the lake.  A big duck lands in the lake.  Now how many ducks are in the lake altogether?"

Jude:  "Was it a nice duck?"

Me:  "Not really.  It was a mean one.  So how many were there?"

Jude: "Well probably if it was mean, some would fly away, so I don't know."

Me (staring at the page and speaking very quietly):  "OK.  Ben does not have a cat.  His dad brings a cat home from the pound.  Then how many cats will Ben have in all?"

Jude:  "Did Ben's mom want a cat?"

Me:  (Sound of deep breathing)

Jude: "What color was it?"

Me:  "I think the dryer just beeped."

Of course, when I left, he filled in all the right answers, so clearly, he was just playing a fun game with Mommy!

On to (8 year old) Isaiah's math and an excellent (if I do say so myself) explanation of how and why we can solve for X in a basic equation.  I worked several sample problems with both addition and subtraction, and asked, "Do you have any questions?"

Isaiah:  "Yes.  Why didn't you name me Habakkuk?"         

Me (a bit deflated):  "Very well then.  I guess that means you understood all that."    

Shining-moment-in-home-education #3 happened during read-alouds this afternoon.  

I had been reading myself hoarse for about an hour, and Elijah had been staring at me in rapt attention the whole time.   After the chapter, I stopped and pulled out the map to point out Burma, where the heroes of our story were imprisoned.  

I pointed down at the map, said Elijah's name, and he continued to stare at a spot on the wall somewhat near where my head had been.  

I said his name twice more, and deep in his eyes I saw a tiny flicker of recognition.  He continued to stare at me and blink for a few more seconds, traveling back from somewhere very far away where he had been visiting during the entirety of the story.  

Wherever he was that whole time,  it was nowhere near Burma, I can tell you that! 


Jamey keeps telling me this is normal for boys, but I felt as helpless as Miss Wormwood trying to call Calvin (a.k.a. "Spaceman Spiff") back from zorching aliens with his frap-ray blaster.  


Unlike Miss Wormwood, however, I do not respond to days like this by drinking Maalox right from the bottle!    

Instead, I go to my room, shut the door, and eat chocolate;)