Dear Boy Moms

Will all my boy moms please stand up, please stand up.

sick beat drop

Real Slim Shady stands up.

Now that you’re up, dust the dirt off your tennis dress because surely it’s coated on there.

You’ve lifted bikes today, scooters; you’ve been handed a caterpillar and bit your lip when it crawled on your arm, saying, “wow honey, thank you, I love it.”

That sucker gets thrown—set nicely and kindly—far, far away in the grass when their attention span moves on to the dirt, sand, wheels, tools.

The potential these boys hold. The reputation they get.

Last night, I was walking with a fellow boy mom and, as we sipped our sparkling water, we reminisced on the first time we met up at a coffee shop with a sweet little 6-month-old and 10-month-old. We sat, held them, and drank our coffee. Hear that? Drank our coffee, not spilt our coffee.

Now we have five boys, four and under, between us.

We love our current realities and also don’t meet up at coffee shops anymore.

You see what I’m throwing down?

We’re literally catching up while catching thrown balls, running to catch up to the cruising bikes, handing out sandwiches like we’re a pretzel man parked on the corner of Times Square.

We’re moving, they’re moving.

We’ve learned how to talk while running and sensing danger. Tiger-like instincts, really.

As we walked, we laughed about the two girls who sat at the coffee shop a few years ago and how hard they would have judged the girls we are now, walking in with our boy crew.

We would have said:

“I’ll never let my son get that messy.”

“I’ll never let my son do that.”

He’ll be a plump little angel boy forever.

Take a sip. Blink. And bam. We’re them. Herding boys and looking at the two girls at the table, sipping their lattes.

We’d laugh and say remember when we used to do that?

Here’s what the laugh would hold, though. It wouldn’t be a mock, rather an acknowledgment of so much more.

We’ve learned our boys. We love them, and we know a bike track is more our scene.

We’re raising men but loving our boys in their boyhood.

God has given them testosterone. That’s how He thoughtfully created them. It has a purpose, and right now they thrive on anything with wheels and testing their limits. They love to dig in the dirt. Throw a ball.

As rough as they can be, they’ve softened us.

We used to try to have it all together. Too much pressure, really. Nails done. Hair done. Outfit clean and fresh.

We still try our best, but honestly, we’ve embraced the chipped nails from adjusting a bike seat for the 14th time, messy hair from so much time outside, and clothes that are dirted up by 9 AM.

We’ve learned to roll with things more. Loosen up. Laugh things off versus getting tense.

We judge way, way, wayyyyy less. We’ve been humbled multiple times. Emphasis on multiple. Capital M also.

Our love for our boys has softened us into women who know how to chill the heck out.

We took life way too seriously before. We can see that now.

They bring out the fun in us. The humility. The this-is-what-life-is-all-about.

Thank God they’re teaching us that daily so we’re not wasting our days on what doesn’t really matter. They’re grounding us to the moment.

There’s so much going on in the moment we couldn’t try to make a mental grocery list if we tried. We have to be present, or we might not sense the danger quickly enough and end up in urgent care.

We’ve let so much go. Pressure and judgey eyes from others. We’ve learned to beat to our own boy mom drum, and we quite frankly love the tune.

I’ve changed so much having three boys, but honestly, I’m freer than I’ve ever been.

They broke the chains that bound me to what doesn’t really matter. I’ve learned every mess can be cleaned up. It’s more fun to embrace the dirt versus fear the dirt.

Life isn’t about sitting pretty; it’s pretty fun to get off your a** and have a good time. It’s pretty fun to dance to your own drum and not give a hoot what anyone else thinks.

It’s pretty dang fun to be a boy mom!