Boys Having Babies?

Our son is a huge fan of the Narnia movies and, hopefully soon, the books. I plan to start reading them to him in the near future. We only own The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe so I borrowed Prince Caspian from the library. Whenever he watches either of the films, he puts on his plastic armor set, stands in the front of the television, and swings his sword around as though he is part of the epic battles between good and evil.

Prince Caspian needs to go back to the library by Thursday so I'm letting him watch it one more time. It opens with a brief labor and delivery scene. I just had the following conversation.

G: Why is he yelling?
Me: Who?
G: That man?

The only person making any noise at all was the woman in labor.

Me: That's a girl.
G: (laughing) No it isn't. It's a man!
Me: Right there? (pointing) That is a woman.
G: No. (By this time the baby had been born.)
Me: Garrett, boys don't have babies.
G: (pause) Oh. Yeah. Why is she yelling?
Me: Well, because it hurts to have a baby.

But, of course, he can't be bothered with the details of babies. He's way too busy waiting for battle.

Born That Way?

I didn't teach my son to be inherently male. Maybe society did. Maybe he was just born that way. When we were in Oregon for Thanksgiving, everyone was gone. I was alone at the house with my son, my niece (age 7) and my nephew (age 5). They were playing some kind of make believe game where the world was ending and bad guys were coming and doom and destruction were, apparently, imminent.

Garrett: (Running down the hallway) AHHHHHH!
Colby: (Chasing Garrett) Oh no! Hurry!!!
Gracie: (Following behind them) They're coming!
Garrett: I need to get my helmet on!
Colby: I need to get my helmet and my sword!
Gracie: (After a short pause) I need to save my babies!

Right now my son is enthralled with knights and battle and saving the world. I haven't nurtured the warrior in him. I am rather convinced that he was born that way.

Mama Overlooks

Mama didn't look when the toddler followed his brother outside and came back in eating a handful of week old snow.

Mama turned a blind eye when the toddler let the dog get three good licks in before he resumed his own consumption of the icy blob.

Mama didn't say anything when the oldest ate an entire caramel apple, core and all.

She didn't complain when he sneezed into the sauce as he helped her cook.

Mama smiled when the toddler held two dinosaur toys, growled, and then made the tyrannosaurus lunge at the triceratops' neck. Even though she definitely didn't teach him about survival of the fittest.

She only momentarily closed her eyes when the noise reached an inhuman decibel level.

Mama doesn't mind the dirt, the bugs, the rough or the tumble.

God gave Mama boys.

And Mama is thankful for them.

Last night, Mama held the toddler and together they practiced words. He looked confused when she started to cry. She was simply overjoyed that she has him this Christmas. She was praising Jesus that she gets the opportunity to teach him words.

Last night, Mama laid with the oldest as he drifted off to sleep. "Mommy," he said, "Can I see Miss H soon?"

"Maybe."

"Will she make me cookies?" He asked.

"I don't think so, honey." Mama replied. "She's still so sad about her daughter. I don't think she'll feel much like making cookies."

"Well," he paused. "Then I think we should make her cookies."

Mama smiled. Mama will put up with ear shattering noise. She will deal with muddy footprints across her carpet. She will eat sneeze sauce. Mama will endeavor to forget about the really small stuff--especially if tenderhearted, godly, men emerge from this household.

What are you exponentially thankful for this Christmas season?

The Bug

We used to call Garrett The Bug. Still do sometimes. But that isn't what this post is about.

See, I don't know why I ever thought I'd have a daughter.

Today, as I entered the house from the garage I noticed a bug on the handle of our snow shovel. I sent The Rock Star to grab his "bug catching" net. Together we captured the creature and deposited it into the dead snake's old cage. I thought it would be fun educational to observe a praying mantis for awhile.

I asked The Rock Star what we should call it and he gave me his standard answer, "Cheesy." It's true. Without any parental prompting, he'd name everything Cheesy. I don't know where he gets this love for cheese. Certainly his father and I would never desire to sit down and eat an entire block of cheese. We definitely don't like cheese in just about any form. We don't view cheese as one of the most perfect creations...

In any event, I encouraged him to choose something else. Something, maybe, from the Bible, since this is a pious insect. "How about Jesus?" he asked. But it seemed wrong to refer to a bug as Jesus so I asked him to head back to the drawing board. "Moses!" He smiled.

"Moses is a good name for a praying mantis." I told him. Unfortunately, after further research, I'm about 99% sure that our particular mantis is a female. I think we're just going to have a girl named Moses. And why is it that the first thing we ever have around here that's a chick also happens to be a winged insect?

So we spent some time gathering sticks and such from our backyard to make Moses a little more comfortable. We also searched high and low for bugs but only succeeded in finding a roly-poly and two earwigs. Our resident mantis seemed completely uninterested. The Husband had a meeting this morning so I asked him to bring home some crickets.

Let me tell you. Those crickets were, apparently, like fine dining for Moses because she really went to town on them. Is still going to town on them. Is ripping off their heads with gusto and slurping out their insides. And The Rock Star and I are watching. Observing. Learning about nature. Moses is watching us with those eyes and I'd be lying if I didn't feel like, maybe, tonight I should sleep with one of mine open.

And I'm wondering why I ever thought I might have a daughter. Because, yeah, I can get dressed up and have a tea party and play Barbies with the best of them but I can also catch snakes and watch praying mantises rip the heads off of crickets. There's one thing I know for sure. God gave me boys for a reason. So we'll watch this mantis for awhile. Then we'll either keep her until she dies early into the fall season or we'll let her go. Either way their will probably be tears. So I'll use my estrogen and hold my little man tight. You see, aside from setting up bug habitats, I'm also good at hugs.