I feel like so many conversations are about rape

I feel like I think so much more about raising G and M than I do N.

I don't know if it is because she is a girl or because with having two boys, I feel like I'm having to do everything double.  Or maybe it is because I am a girl, so I think I know, based on how I was parented, what works and doesn't work.  Raising boys is all new and weird territory, especially now that they are getting older.

It occurred to me that I feel like I am giving a very, very long, life-long, lecture on rape and domestic abuse, even though I have never actually talked about rape and domestic abuse specifically to my sons.

Most of our rape conversations concern the cats.

G is a pest.  He loves to pester anything breathing, but especially the cats.  I really don't think he is trying to be mean, but I think he is bored or curious as to what kind of response he can get out of them.  He isn't cruel in that he doesn't hit them, but he is cruel in the sense that when they mew or walk away or kick at him with their back legs or nip at him, he generally doesn't quit until I screech at him to LEAVE THE F*CKING CATS ALONE!!!

I stress to him that the cats are telling him, in the only ways they know how, to STOP.
I ask him would he like for someone to continue doing something after he has told them STOP.
I tell him that when he gets to be an adult, if he bothers someone after they have repeatedly told him to STOP, he could go to jail.

I'm not sure what else to do other than to continue having these discussions and waiting for someone, somewhere, to knock his freaking head off his shoulders when he won't stop whatever it is that they have asked him to stop doing.

The other night, I felt like we had a discussion of domestic abuse, even though we didn't actually discuss it.

After listening to G be completely disrespectful and mean (while I was trying to bath him and get him to bed), I lost my sh*t and went off on him.  This certainly wasn't a good example of "remain calm and be the model your child should emulate," but I had simply had it with him and his mouth.

I said, "Do you know what I would do if Daddy ever talked to me the way you are talking to me?  I would divorce him.  I have to raise you, but there will come a time when I do not have to be a part of your life.  And if you treat me like this, I will divorce myself from you."

That might be pretty heavy stuff for an 8-year-old, but I think he got the message, and this, I feel, is one of our conversations about domestic abuse and about treating people, especially women, with respect.  I know he sees his daddy behave appropriately, but I hope that seeing mom not tolerating disrespect will be important as well.  

Pants on the ground

When I found out G was a boy, I was more than a little terrified.  Excited, to be sure, but also highly anxious.  I mean, what was I supposed to do with the penis?  From my limited understanding of the male gender, I knew those things have a life of their own.

Once G was born, I realized that he was simply a sweet little baby....no different, really, from N when she was an infant.  I felt the same with M.

It wasn't too much past the boys' infancy for me to once again be confounded by the whole penis thing.

M went through an fairly intense penis-playing phase some time ago, but that eventually passed.

About a month ago, G had a foreskin infection, which freaked me out, mostly because my brain instantly went into, "I don't want him to have to be circumcised at this age."  He can retract a bit, so the doctor said for G to retract as much as he could and for me to apply a tiny bit of steroid cream to reduce the inflammation.  Dr. B gave G an antibiotic, and things cleared up just fine.  Apparently, these infections are fairly common among little boys G's age.

Ever since, G has been very, very interested on "pulling his skin," as he calls it.  One morning after he woke me at his usual 6:30 a.m., I left him on the couch watching tv while I walked into the kitchen to fix my coffee and check my email.  I walked back to the couch to check on him and found him with his pants at his knees and him busily "pulling his skin."  I just turned and walked back into the kitchen because that is a party to which I do not want to be invited.

The boys have nekkid time on a somewhat regular basis.  I will be cooking dinner or cleaning and see G streak by.  Soon after M will come in saying "Pants!" or "Shirt" and want my help removing his gear so he too can run around in the buff.  Both Mamaw and Nana (and even my neighbor HC) have gotten pretty used to having the door opened for them and being welcomed into our home by boy parts in their glory.

Like jumping on the bed and the Wiggles, eventually kids lose interest in these things.  If it's not hurting anyone, why make an argument out of it?  Plus, what would I have to write about if it weren't for my kids' antics?

Tonight G came out of the boys' shared bedroom and when I went in to settle them down and tuck them in, I found that M had taken off his pajama bottoms, a feat of which I didn't think him capable.  I may have to resort to the onesie over the pajama thing again if this continues.

I think the only solution for "pulling the skin" is duct-taped hands.  

History cannot repeat itself when it comes to 2nd and 3rd children

I think I am finally working through an issue that has plagued me for the past few years---my desire to replicate all the wonderful things I did with N when she was a young child with my boys and the near impossibility of doing so.

There is a luxury with having only one child that one doesn't fully appreciate until one has more than a singleton child and especially when those other children are closely spaced in age.

When N was a toddler and preschooler we took My Gym classes and Music Together classes and participated in all sorts of fun MOMS Club activities, and those things were wonderful and created great memories.

Our local My Gym is now closed (sadly), and while I did take a class there once the boys came on the scene, it was with both boys, which eliminated the possibility of having quality "alone" time with either G or M.

I took a Music Together class with G when M was smaller, and while we enjoyed it, it sometimes felt like a chore every week since I had to make sure M had been nursed prior to going and I had to get back soon after the class to put M down for his nap and on occasions when I didn't have a sitter, I had to take M along with us.  It just wasn't the same as it had been when N and I took classes together when she was 2-and-a-half.

When N was small, I was able to take her and my mom out to lunch quite often because N was able to sit and chat and enjoy being still for longer than half a second.  Boys, or my boys, at least, don't sit still.  Ever.  So while we are sometimes able to eat a quick bite at Panera or McAllister's, we don't do it very often because I can only handle so much indigestion from eating a sandwich in 2 gulps.

When N was 4 or so, D and I took her to see The Nutcracker ballet, and it was magical, but I would be a complete fool to spend $60 to take G to see a ballet.  Perhaps when he is older (like 22)?  I do what I can with him, though.  His playgroup will be seeing a short play based on the picture book How I Became a Pirate in the spring.  I figure since he likes pirates and will be 4-and-a-half by the time the show runs, he can probably handle sitting still for an hour.  (Plus, if he is miserable and we need to skedaddle, I will only be out $10 for both of our tickets.)

It is impossible to be the same doting, patient mom with my boys that I was with N.  I am older now and more tired from tending to 3 children.  I have to consider the needs and desires of both boys, where back in the day I only had to consider N.  My boys personalities and energy levels and interests are nothing like N at the same age.  She could play kitchen and restaurant but the boys only enjoy dumping out all the play food items on the floor and trying to stick the plastic hot dogs up their nostrils.

With the boys I have to discover a new definition of quality time, a new array of interesting activities, a new way of creating lasting and special memories.

And that is ok.

Raising sons

I feel like I have a harder time "raising" my boys than I do my daughter, and maybe a lot of moms feel this way since as women we don't have an intuitive sense or understanding of what our sons are all about.  I don't "get" the taking apart of everything to see how it operates.  I don't "get" the inherent need to push, shove, crush, or generally take down whatever is in the way.  I don't "get" the inability to sit.still.for.even.30.seconds.  It is all foreign to me.

And as much as the boys baffle me, their father baffles me even more.  I don't "get" how he can remember all sorts of minutiae related to programming and work, but he forgets to buy his mother a gift card at the hair salon while he's there.  I don't "get" the appeal of playing violent Xbox games for hours and hours on end (if left on his own, which he rarely is these days).  And because he is a grown man, and I tend to have higher expectations of him than I do the boys (since they are young children), I become frustrated by these things that make him a "typical male."

And so I do what a lot of women do and think, "Men is dumb."

My friend REW shared this post on Facebook, and it really bothered me because I would be a big fat liar if I said I didn't think at least a couple of these things fairly often (specifically:  "Men are scatter-brained," "Men don't help enough around the house," and "Men don't spend enough time with their children.")

And as a mother of sons, I feel like I need to be their champion.  And I can't very well be this if I tend to think "men is dumb."

Maybe I'm stupid, but I feel like I don't know where to begin with this challenge.  Read Raising Cain again?   Is it enough to love them and guide them and simply accept that I'll never "get" them and I might often think what they do is actually dumb?  Does that qualify me as a bad mom?

I'm still chewing on the answer to this one.