Raising Boys

I'm reading this book, Raising Boys, to make sure that I'm not really screwing up my kids. Actually, until now I've just been winging it in terms of meeting my kids needs....food, water, shelter, a few good nursery rhymes and Dr. Seuss books seemed sufficient. In the last few months, however, G has made references to relatively distant events that he remembers (like where he received a particular cheetah toy that he never plays with - a birthday party at Chuck E Cheese 11 months ago) or has given me insights into parts of his personality ("I like to wear the same pants, Mommy, because I get nervous when I leave the house.") that make me realize that my kids are living, breathing human beings. (OK, OK, I knew that, but when the only feedback you get is a few giggles, grunts, and cries, it's a bit surprising when they begin expressing thoughts and feelings.)

So, I did what I do whenever the going gets tough or I feel unprepared...I grab a glass of wine. No, seriously. Wait, I am serious. I also get a book. Raising Boys seemed to fit my needs for better understanding the emotional and other needs of the toddler/preschooler set. It's a pretty basic book, but gives good insights and reminders that resonate with me.

Of greatest interest is how the relationship between a mother and son can shape a boy's relationship with women as an adult. Gulp. That's a lot of pressure. And, in fact, I'm quite nervous. You see, as the book also points out, boys at the preschooler age have a lot of need for physical activity. Running, jumping, throwing, tossing, wrestling, etc. All things "boy." It has something to do with testosterone and what not. G fits this to a T. He's constantly moving and throwing and running and launching himself off of high surfaces. His favorite is to climb into the picture window and hurl himself out onto the ottoman a good 6 feet away.

As his mother I try to both keep him safe and engage with him on this particular activity, but the truth is I really don't know what to do except to protect MYSELF from being physically harmed by the objects he hurls across the room, including his own body. I often find myself crouching for fear of losing an eye, or jumping out of the way of his flailing body, or grabbing a pillow to protect myself from his big noggin.

I really hope his future relationships with women in no way resemble the one he's experiencing right now with his mama!

(Note: That last statement isn't entirely true.....he still loves to climb in bed at the wee hours and cuddle, and thankfully those moments balance the ones where I fear for my life!)