My oldest boy is six and a half. Which makes me lame and three quarters.
Mothering boys does not come naturally to me. I grew up with sisters. Boys were always a great mystery. All that energy. Natural boy energy seemed like naughtiness before I had boys of my own. Now I know better. A boy without energy enough to climb the walls, tear them down and then build them back up should have his thyroid levels checked.
Many times a day I am reminding my boys to talk in a quieter voice, simmer down, walk nicely, slow down, talk politely etc. And many times a day I am reminding myself that I am raising boys. Boys need to talk in a loud voice, simmer up, walk crazy, kick into high gear and talk about bodily functions. They must do all of these things or they will explode. We do a daily dance of reigning in and channeling energy. Finding appropriate outlets for natural tendencies.
Yesterday was a day full of correction and redirection. It started to show on my boy's face. The 'I can't do anything fun' look. So I skunked him in a game of marbles. Then he beat me twice...and practiced some smack talk. So I body slammed him. Then I beat him in a foot race. He smiled at me like I wasn't quite as lame as he thought. Then to seal the deal I asked him, "Know what?"
"Chicken butt." I said. And his eyes got wide.
"Know why?" I asked.
"Why?" he grinned.
"Cow pie." I said. His eyes got wider.
"Where?" he asked on pins and needles.
"In your underwear." I whispered. And his eyes fell onto the floor.
And I am now the coolest person he knows. For now.