I always wanted four children. Two boys and two girls. It seemed right, somehow, balanced. I’ve long been one who prefers symmetry in my life. Instead, I was blessed with three sons. Until I became the mother of boys I never realized how wonderful it is to be the only “girl” in the house. MOST of the time….
One of my tasks this week is deep cleaning of my house. You know, the jobs you leave in hopes the cleaning fairies will come and you will wake up to a spotless house? Well, Virginia, there may be a Santa Claus, but I have come to the distinct conclusion that there are no cleaning fairies.
So, as I begin the task of scrubbing toilets, sorting hockey equipment and tripping over yet another flyer filled with circled Poke’mon toys, I remind myself of the joys of having sons.
- No thirteen-year-old girl will scream at me “You hate me!” and slam her bedroom door (Tommy, my middle son, does this at 6).
- I won’t have to make sidelong glances at every boy that comes calling when I have teenagers (just at all the girls that phone)
- I won’t have to deal with anorexia or bulimia that seems to plague teenage girls – I will have to take a second job to pay for the grocery bill to feed teenage boys!
Okay, so that list didn’t make me feel better. As I sat back on the floor of the bathroom and looked at the sparkling mirrors, fixtures and floor, I felt a small pair of three-year-old arms wrap themselves around my neck in a breath-stopping hug. “I love you, mommy!” I sighed and hugged him back. “I love you, too.”
He giggled and thus began our ‘bedtime banter’.
“I love you, three.”
“I love you, four.” I smiled waiting.
“I love you, infinity.” Ian giggled out, waiting for the punch line.
“I love you more.”
I smiled, remembering the best thing about being a mommy to my boys.