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raising boys

On February 1, 2011, at around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, snow started coming down together with the wind, fast and furious. The fortunate ones were able to stay in their own houses, waiting for the blizzard to end.

Before the sun came out again, the snow had stopped but the wind continued. When those fortunate people woke up on February 2, they were greeted with the aftermath of the blizzard and they picked up the shovels, started up their snowblowers and went to work.

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Unknown Mami

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My boys are becoming more and more uncouth each day, and I am not doing anything about it because deep down I think I am a 13-year-old boy.

I am going to blame it on Austin Powers though. Lately they have been watching Austin Powers. All three of them. Yeah. I know.

Mr. Monk loved all the bathroom humors and antics and in fact, was so excited that he could not sit still,  jumping up and down through the movie. I could hear his excited, high-pitched laugh all the way downstairs through the closed door to the master bedroom where the TV is.

Nowadays the easiest way to start a fit of giggling around our house is to show them something round, and in pairs.

The boys saw the failed muffins

and decided that the muffins looked like boobs.

Mr. Monk: Oh mom!  They look like, you know, boobs!

12-year-old: (To his brother, with his mouth stuffed with one of the burned and misformed muffin tops) Hmm. If you don’t want to eat your boobs, I will have your boobs.

Me: (Trying not to laugh) Do not make fun of boobs.

Mr. Monk: Yeah. We would have died without boobs. You know mommy would not have been able to feed us… and we would have starved.

Me: Staying out of this topic because I did not want to explain to him, again, that I only breastfed for less than two weeks

12-year-old: Or we would not even have been born if daddy were not attracted by mom’s boobs…

Fortunately, at this moment, the conversation was derailed by my asking Mr. Monk what he was doing [No. Don’t ask] and we moved onto a discussion of penis vs. balls vs. ball sack vs. scrotum.

Boobs and balls. Boobs or balls? Boobs or balls?! Cake or death?! (Sorry. Got carried away a bit over there…)

Hey, at least we are using the correct anatomical terms.

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Many of the things that we do or don’t do can be legitimized if only we could find a proper name for it, in conjunction with a cool, catchy definition.

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Once you settle on a name, remember to capitalize it to make it into a Thing. Like so.

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To further reinforce the legitimacy of your parenting style, google and see whether you can find books written based on a similar premise. And of course there it is, out of the 16,562 books listed on Amazon.com under “Parenting (paperback)”.

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“The Idle Parent: Why Less Means More When Raising Kids” in the UK; curiously, "Why Laid-Back Parents Raise Happier and Healthier Kids" in the US with a less inspiring cover...

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Voilà! You’ve got yourself a legitimate school of thoughts to follow (or continue to do or not do what you have been doing or not doing)…

As this article in The New York Times says, “[Y]ou can turn guilt on its head and call it a parenting philosophy.”

“The one constant over the past century has been parents’ determination to find the right answers when it comes to raising their children. In this latest chapter, we have replaced the experts who told us what a good parent worries about with experts who tell us that a good parent doesn’t worry so much. We may even see parents stop aiming to prove how perfect they are and start trying to prove how nonchalant they are.”

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A week before Father’s Day, I asked Mr. Monk to sign the card for my father-in-law. (Let’s for now park the burning question of WHY as soon as you entered into a committed, heterosexual relationship, all remembering and gift giving for miscellaneous dates and holidays became the woman’s job… Yes, let’s shelf it for now until we have some free time…)

“You should put lipstick on and put kisses all over the card to go with the big hug.” I said, without thinking. I was being witty.

“Can I? Oh, can I?” There were stars in his eyes. This kid has been dying to try on my makeup if it were not for the death threat issued by his father.

“Sure. Why not!” I grabbed the camera, thinking, “Honey, this is what happens when you are not around to sign your own father’s Father’s Day card!”

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The Joker

Picture 1 of 3

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Raising Boys

February 18, 2010 no manual for parenting

As much as I lament the lack of girl presence in my household, I know I am blessed to have my boys. They tug at my heart even though they bruise my sides sometimes when they roughhouse; They have no control over and are unaware of their own growing limbs.  They are protective of their […]

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