Boys

Sometimes my sons make me feel crazy.  We’ve had a bit of attitude going on at our house.  Is there anything more hateful than the small person you birthed and whose bum you wiped and puke you caught in your own bare hands rolling their eyes at you?!?!  I ask you?  What’s a mother to do.  It tempts one to smack them and I am not that kind of mom!  

Today I came downstairs after my shower to a sobbing Bridger.  I have this red chair, see.  It’s my favorite ‘thing.’  I own lots of stuff and am not particularly attached to any of it, but this piece of stuff has rank.  In a discussion of what to sell, give away, or move on to our next destination the one thing that always makes the ‘it goes where I go’ list is my red cowboy chair.  I bought it out of a girl’s garage a few years ago.  Found some fabulous red pleather and some cherry-red paint and had my favorite furniture gurus in Denver make it over.  It is a fabulous piece of furniture, and today my son wrecked it.  Well, not really.  It’s not wrecked.  He just picked a bunch of paint off of the arm of the chair.  There was a tiny bit pealing up and he did what any self-respecting eight year old would do.  He started picking and pulling and messing with it.  I can’t blame him.  It does not make him a horrible person.  I once pulled the brail sticker off the inside of an elevator because it was pulling away and I couldn’t resist peeling it off.  That, I’m pretty sure makes you a horrible person.  But a little paint off a chair?  Even if it’s your mother’s favorite ‘thing’?  It just makes you a point of frustration.  Even that I didn’t let out in front of him.  He was genuinely heart broken and sorry.  So, I couldn’t be angry.  Just really bummed.  Then even more bummed when about two seconds later I found one of my vintage turquoise bracelets had been bent and mangled by the other son who ‘wanted to see how it worked.’

What with the recent snotting and eye-booger sickness, the demanding (as in I want it not now, RIGHT NOW) breastfeeding, the eye rolling, the constant bickering, and the el destructo boyness in general--between you and me I dream of weeks away from my children.  Still sometimes, they do or say or be something that simply melts me, and I am able to regroup and not smack them and even love them an extra lot.  Caid has lost his two front teeth and the lisping and toothless grin are so stinkin’ cute I can’t stand it.  Asher has started giving the most spectacular hugs.  Just wraps his little arms around you and presses his little head against you and mmmmm...it’s so nice!  Then there was the conversation around the dinner table the other night.  One of those moments that reminded me that these little beings around my table are from some other place.  Full of a life and light that is a gift to me and blesses me constantly. 

Bridger started a conversation a few nights ago with “Dad?  If you could raise money for something, what would you raise it for?”  Neither one of us were certain what he meant.  So we asked him what he would raise it for.  “A baseball field.  I’d build one for kids who don’t get to play baseball.  Maybe in Ubie’s [Ubaldo Jimenez--his favorite pitcher from the Dominican Republic] country.”  He then proceeded to line out all that he would do to accomplish this.  Find a field.  Ask the local people whether we should do it in a meadow or cut down some jungle.  Ask what sort of field they would want.  Decide how much it would cost.  Not forget to include equipment like balls and bats and helmets.  “Do you think they would want uniforms?”

Then he talked about how he’d write to schools and see if other kids would want to help him raise the money for the fields.  “I think kids in England and America would want to help.”  He went on and on.  Outlining different components of a very well thought-out plan with passion and clarity and excitment.  

He may be hard on my furniture, but I wouldn’t trade him for the world.