Boys v Girls

I had a friend suggest this topic and as I thought about it, it fell right in line with a conversation I was having with a few other friends earlier this week and figured, sure, lets give this a whirl!

As most of my regular readers know, I have 2 boys. I’ve raised them to the best of my ability, with each of them having their own challenges. There are parents who are fortunate to have boys AND girls. My mother was blessed to have me first and then along came my brother. She had a nice balance between the two genders and we each put her through our own version of hell. The fact that she’s still alive and also NOT locked in a loony bin at this point says a lot about her character and strong will. I hope I got that from her. I think I did. My kids will say I did.

But then….

There are the mothers of only girls. They don’t have any additional testosterone flowing the house, unless they get a pet. So here’s how I see it. The doctor announces “It’s a beautiful baby GIRL!!” and the world turns pink. Pink everywhere. Pink rooms, pink clothes, pink ribbons for her hair. And then baby 2 is a girl. And just when you thought you had everything pink, you discover, oh no, there is WAY more stuff to buy! Diaper bags, and little frilly cover ups. Mounds of lace and pink! You can’t watch a Pepto commercial without thinking of the baby.

Then, as they grow up, there may be less pink, but the shopping hasn’t stopped. Dresses and shoes and make up and leggings and bows and cute little decorations for their rooms and bathroom and lockers and cars. There is crying. LOTS of crying and most of the time no one knows why. Some days it’s ok to her why she’s crying. Other days it’s waaaaaaay easier to tip toe all the way out of the house and sit outside til she’s done. Even in the rain. Or 46 below zero. PLUS wind chill.

Dads have to protect their precious little ones from the evil horrible wretched boys that will all too soon come searching for your princess. Lock and load, Dad, lock and load.

My boys have given me challenges, don’t get me wrong, but just in such a different way. They have made stupid, boneheaded decisions that make me question their IQ and their sanity. Or mine. I mean, the oldest went through an Emo phase that I never thought would end. I was starting to wonder if I should just resign myself to the fact that he would be working in some comic book or trying to go on the road with Fall Out Boy. But then, miraculously, he came out of it.

As I was thinking about all of this, I realized that worrying about an Emo phase or any of the stuff I worried about with them is nothing compared to the worries of a mom with more than one girl. She has to worry about the technology of today and what they are doing with it. Worry about boys (especially the “serious” boyfriend who, let’s be honest, only has one thing on his mind no matter how nice, upstanding, good grades, dad is a pastor, drives a BMW and always address you as “Mrs.”) and teen pregnancy, going to the Homecoming Dance or Prom, or the party that she says she’ll be home midnight and isn’t home yet. The heartbreak of the boy who said he loved her, til the next girl came along and she was dumped via text. The pimple that appeared right at the end of her nose on picture day. In the day of the life of a girl, that is traumatizing.

So even on my worst parenting feeling days, when Ryan brings that bad grade home (which so far this years he’s getting GREAT grades…..A’s even!!) or when he tells me his phone is broken AGAIN, that it’s not nearly as bad as raising more than one girl. I have the utmost sympathy and compassion for you. I truly do. God gave me two boys for a reason. Plus, I would be SOOO broke buying yet more clothes. And a mani/pedi session. And that cute bag. And did you see those shoes??????

boys v girls

And so it goes….

I couldn’t decide what to title this blog post. I couldn’t even write the past few weeks because I kept thinking I needed something insightful, or popular, or relevant, or now. But when I woke up this morning, I thought….this is MY blog and I can write about anything or nothing. I can sit here and write about the color of my underwear if I want to. (Bright pink today for anyone interested)

What really prompted me to write this today is that tomorrow is my husbands birthday. And you might think this is about his birthday, but it isn’t. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. Because woaaaah baby, do we have a story to tell there. But instead, his birthday got me thinking that it’s almost the end of March. This is Spring Break week for Ryan. After this week, it will be April. APRIL!!! He gets out of school mid May. So you know what this means??? This means that my youngest son will be finished with his Freshman year of high school in mere weeks!! How can this be?? No, really, I want an answer, how can this be?????

It just makes my brain start working in over time. 3 years. So much will happen in the next 3 years. It goes by so fast. I wish I had a pause button sometimes. Or at least a slow-down button. When my oldest was in high school, it just seemed to pass with a blur. One minute he was a precious Freshman walking into his huge high school, the next thing I knew, I was ordering senior pictures, and a graduation cake, and moving him away to college. Boom, it was over.

And now, it feels like the same phenomenon is happening again. Moving too fast. Blink. One year is over. I mean, we have already scheduled classes for next year. We’re getting those blanket college inquiries. He’s going to have to start trying to decide what he wants to do, and if and where he wants to go to college. Of course, right now, he’s still the little kid who thinks he’ll be able to move into a mansion in West Palm Beach after graduation and he’ll join the NBA. The NBA part might be a joke, but not the West Palm part. Or South Beach. See?? He isn’t picky.

But that makes me realize that in 3 years, we can go south and get out of this cold weather hell. A condo on the water? Yep. Sign me up. Of course, that’s to say Michael doesn’t need to move sooner. Who knows what his job will bring. But at the very latest, 3 years from now, I’ll be packing and dealing with moving 900 miles away. Wow. In the meantime, I’ll just keep stressing out about how my baby is almost done with Freshman year. And how I can’t possibly be that old.