I am a mum of boys. I have been a mum of boys for nearly eleven years. I love boys. They rock. I appreciate their strengths; (although I'm generalising, and many girls hold these qualities too)... I like their sense of adventure, their self confidence, their feeling of invincibility, and their need to discover and to work things out. I like how they strive to do better than their last attempt, I like their respect for goodies and baddies. I like their boldness and how they laugh at inappropriate things. And I've come to expect, if not totally understand their need for nakedness and shooting stuff.
Very early on in my mothering journey, I came to realise just how physical boys are. And with the subsequent arrival of more boys in my life, that realisation just grew and grew. If they need to get from A to B, they see no need to just walk the route. They run, they climb, they 'Kapow' and 'Whoosh'. They jump onto, and into, and off of, anything. They drape and hang themselves; off of the sofa, off of the banister, off of me, off of anything actually. Recently my mum arrived, to one of her grandsons hanging upside down from a high tree branch, with a breezy "hello nanny".
And then there's the physical relationship they have with each other. The bundles, the trip ups, the pinches, the wedgies, the punches, the grabs, the headlocks, the noogies, the kicks, the jumping on each other, and the outright fights. This is the bit I have learnt to expect and overlook, but not necessarily understand. I, like any little sister, enjoyed the odd pinch under my brother's arm, with the retaliation of a wet tea-towel whipping, but the constant desire to hurt one another, is a bit beyond me. And it really is constant. Neither does any of it mean that they don't like each other either. Apparently it's just in-built, and maybe even a sign of affection for one another. Sure you have to comment on some power plays or when one is more involved than the other, or when the angry face comes out. But most of the time, I just walk away, perhaps with a casual warning that I'm in the kitchen if anyone gets hurt.
And they do get hurt, and sorrys are said. But when asked if the victim would like me to stop the game altogether, they often answer no and run back into it, topless and smiling, with fresh vigour. The testosterone build up after said bundle, means they struggle to just stop and calm it all afterwards...I've learnt that the 'cooling down' bit takes a bit of time and often some separation from each other. 'Tis all but a mystery to this mum.
On a recent family trip to London, I decided to not comment on any rough, physical play. I left it to the husband and just took pictures of them instead. It was very releasing...well for me anyway! They can't help themselves...Any quiet moment, any waiting, any queueing, any standing near each other, any sitting next to each other...they're just like magnets drawn to each other, drawn to fight one another. (And the husband can't help but join in too). I was comforted by a French family in the museum queue. The little girl was reading the information booklet, while her two brothers grappled with each other. Their mum seemed to be ignoring them too. I felt like we were soul sisters. Maybe I should have hugged her...
So what's my point? I'm not sure I even have one, apart from to reach out to all mums of boys and say "I know. It's OK. They're normal. Keep going. Just train them in what is worth fighting for".
"But you, man of God, flee from all this, and pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. Fight the good fight of the faith."
1 Timothy 6v11
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