oh brothers

I prayed for two boys.  I just thought I would be a better mom to boys.  Growing up and into adulthood, I’ve always had a lot of guy friends.  I understand guys.  They are simple creatures.  Girls are sooo complex and emotional (speaking from experience).  I’m not good with drama and emotions that get blown way out of proportion (not that I ever do that).  Plus, if I had a daughter and she did some of the things that I did growing up that my parents will never know about (because I would know what she was up to), yeah, that would not be good and I’m not so sure I could handle that well.  I wasn’t a bad girl, but I wasn’t a good girl either.  Enough said.  So I prayed diligently during my two pregnancies and my prayers were answered.

Now that I’m in the MOB (mom of boys), I’m curious about how boys get to be boys.  One of the things I love most about being a parent is that I am seeing how these little kids in my life (my boys and friends’ kids) are developing into little people.  It’s neat to see their different personalities take shape and see who they are becoming.  That’s one of the great things about HHH, over time I’ve had the opportunity to see our community of friends – moms and their little lovelies – change and grow and see my little dudes in the mix too.

It turns out that BigBoy is sweet, a tad emotionally sensitive, a touch reserved in groups, but once he warms up he’s a delight and can talk your ear off about all sorts of things, but mostly racecars, dinosaurs or garbage trucks for now.  He’s a thinker and he likes his alone time with books, video games or chasing the waves when we’re at the beach.  I think that apple didn’t fall far from this tree.  BabyD is quite a different kid.  He came out a snuggler and a big personality.  He’s incredibly physical and a tad reckless.  For example, I was getting ready in the morning, putting on makeup and fixing my hair, while the boys were running around in my bedroom.  I turned around to watch BabyD running full speed straight into the mattress.  He’s not jumping up to get on it (he’s also all of two feet tall and I believe that our mattresses are taller than he is).  No, he’s just running straight for the it, runs into it, falls flat on his back, blinks, and then laughs maniacally.  All of a sudden an image of my younger brother comes to mind.

Kirk and I are 2 ½ years a part.  Other than the strong desire to torment each other and that we were both born to our parents, we didn’t really have much in common growing up.  I was moody, emotional and complex and he was, well, all B-O-Y.  My brother was nothing like the sweet or cute boys I was fawning over in elementary school or junior high.  He was a whole different breed.  He liked to hit things, get dirty, squish stuff, run, climb and jump. (Now I know that the boys I had crushes on probably liked that stuff too, but I guess I had doodled too many stars, hearts and butterflies around their names to see that side of them.)  I get it – boys like to do that kind of stuff, but in varying degrees.

BigBoy likes to run and climbs like the rest of them, but he has more reasoning and timidity that holds him back from going full tilt.  When he gets hurt, it’s a whole big scene let me tell you.  BabyD simply is not like that.  He goes for it even especially when he’s playing with his brother and friends.  BabyD does his best to keep up with them.  When he gets hurt he cries a little, runs over for a quick kiss from mommy and he’s immediately back in the game.  I’ve drawn the line recently at kissing his little toes anymore when they get hurt (they were so cute, but now they’re getting really dirty!).  I also had to establish another line when he said “kiss it” because his penis was hurting from a bad rash.  Just for the record I said, “Nope. Inappropriate,” but I’m still cracking up from that one.

I didn’t really start to like my brother until we were both older and I could understand him more.  I think I wrote him off too early since he was a “big dumb football player” and well, I was either to cool for him or too bothered by him.  Either way, I feel like karma is knocking on my door and I have a second chance at understanding him – especially now that I see my youngest son flinging himself into things for kicks and giggles.  Does this mean that I’m going to have to like football?  Oh this will be interesting.  Cheers friends.