From the moment I first held my son, it was all new, it was all different and it was all foreign territory for me.  Our son was baby #3 in our family.  I am, of course, a girl and I first mothered girls.  My point of reference, my memories, my emotions- are all girl.  Mothering a boy was an exciting thought, but it scared me a bit, too.

I held my son and was instantly smitten.  He was different from the start.  I watched a show once about boys and girls, I remember the point being made that if you dressed a baby in different clothes, you would not be able to tell which gender.  True, maybe if you do not have a baby, or it’s been years since you’ve held one; but my boy was instantly different.  I could see the difference in his hands, his forearms, his little sweet baby-boy head.  He was special, our bond was special, and I knew I was set on a road of new things.

My girls attended a co-op preschool group.  It was very orderly, very proper…and the boys were always in trouble.  This did not overly trouble me at the time, my girls managed to sit still.  But one day I realized- that no, this would not do.

I remember a trip to the grocery store, my girls obediently holding the cart as expected: my boy, vibrating in his seat/touching everything/making noise non-stop/talking non-stop.

I had an epiphany in the grocery store:

my boy was not disobedient, he was all boy, he was made of different temperament-a different mind, than my girls and I.

I had an epiphany that day, and chose to embrace the adventure instead of struggle against it.

This I know: Lessons bore him if too long, writing is torture.  Games with an edge of danger are better, mud, dirt and bugs are glorious, and anything can be a weapon.  Spiders and bugs are not bad, but are a mystery to be explore.  Injustice hurts mightily, boy tears are big, fat, hot and wet.  Boy arms around my neck are alarmingly strong, but missed when not applied as often.  Boy work is messy and smelly, but a freshly scrubbed boy in clean p.j.s is a gift from above.  He thinks I am beautiful and important, but often doesn’t hear my directions. His feelings are easily hurt, but he can infuriate me in 2 seconds.  Boy jokes are silly and I don’t get them.  Hockey must be the smelliest sport ever.

I defer to my husband’s knowledge of all things boy.  But frankly, being home with my boy all day leaves me on the front-line of interesting situations: situations where I have to think on my feet, quickly- without the luxury of consulting his dad for the logic or attitude I should pursue.  Instead of over-thinking it during the day (of which I admit I do a lot of at day’s end when I should be sleeping…) I find myself  turning to this verse to guide my reactions, instructions and admonishments:

“But He has shown thee, oh man, what is good and what the Lord requires of thee:  But to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.”Micah 6:8

This verse guides my instruction to my son.  I don’t like the book he has picked up, or he is giggling over a not-so-nice word with a friend.  I ask him, “does this fit ‘what is good’?” He is fighting with little sister and leaving her out, I ask him, “Is this mercy?” He is shirking his chores, “are you doing what is required of you?”.

My parenting path is strewn with unknowns, but thankfully I have a sure and tried guide to keep me steady and unwavering through this adventure of mothering my boy.  I wouldn’t miss it for anything, I am so grateful I was blessed with the adventure of all things boy.