I find the roughness of raising boys to be … unnerving.
Example: recently, ONE (4 years old) sucker punched TWO (1 years old) in the face. I mean he really got him good. I was standing right there when it happened, and it made me sick to my stomach. He got in major trouble, and thankfully his little brother recovered quickly.
I did not.
I may have had to take a mommy time out in my bathroom to pull it together while Husband handed out the spanking. Later, when I was talking to him about the horribleness of it all, Husband said “I’m actually really proud of both of them.” Then he went on to say that the hit was well-placed and powerful, so good for ONE. And TWO didn’t cry for long — he “took it like a man,” per Husband — so good for him as well.
It was then that I realized … CRAP. This is my life. This is what boys do. They fight. They wrestle. They are rough and tumble, and I can’t get in the way of that because if I do, my sons will grow up to be ninnies.
I cannot have ninnies for sons.
I mean, if someone turns out unable to handle himself in a fight, I can’t let it be because his mommy didn’t allow him to learn. I have spent these first few years so focused on teaching my sons how to be polite, and eat properly, pick up their toys and dress themselves that I forgot it’s also important to give them the space they need to be BOYS.
So as it turns out, I guess wrestling in the living room with Daddy has more worth than just male bonding time. He’s teaching them how to be men, and I can teach them how to be POLITE and CLEAN men. Our children learn equally valuable things from both of us … so easy to forget.
Next item on the agenda: teach them it’s not okay to punch for no reason. You have to at least give a warning (look out, sucka!) first. Heaven help us all.