My little boy started 2nd grade this week…sniff, sniff, tear, tear. Where did the time go? It’s strange for him to be seven. In ten years he will be a Senior, applying to colleges, driving (YIKES), maybe even dating (I will highly discourage this…any girl interested will have to apply first lol…lol not really kidding about the applying to date my son part). In ten years he won’t be into star wars, transformers or the avengers…well, at 17 he may choose keep that obsession a secret. In ten years I will probably be totally uncool because I’m more than halfway there already….he doesn’t laugh at my goofy faces like he used too, although he still rolls with laughter when we play chase by bunny hopping instead of running.
My little boy is growing up and it makes me crazy sad and happy at the same time!! Ugh…I need a tub of ice cream… :(…maybe I will skip on the ice cream as I flashback to this morning when my daughter was pointing and laughing while I got dressed…nice how a two year old can affect your self esteem. 🙂
As I think about my kiddos I can’t help but notice how boys and girls are TRULY different; it’s not just a theory. Raising little boys is…is…is…well, it’s different than raising girls…for example…
*Mclain fell the day before school; totally skinned up his knee and dotted his eye. Yes, he cried, but then perked up at the thought of having a black eye ’cause the guys in his class would think he was cool. What kind of logic is this?
*Willa and I look at the Magnolia tree in our front yard and see the beauty….Mclain sees a urinal. It’s nice when the neighbors go by and see your son in all his glory “watering” the tree–as he claims.
Boys are rough little daredevils, but also so tenderhearted, and at times passionate. I love how he still gives me hugs and kisses, and waits for a bedtime story. Recently he was reading about Rosa Parks, and couldn’t understand what the big deal was about not giving up her seat on the bus, because, after all, according to 2nd grade logic, the back of the bus is where the cool people sit. I tried my best to explain how African Americans were treated back then; it’s like this awful stain on American History that’s hard to talk about. He was totally upset and moved by this information, so later that day he said, “Mom, I’ve been inspired to write a song for African Americans.” It went like this. “I’m an African American. I’m an African American. I’m an African American and I’m FREE!” Nice. Sweet. Innocent. I’m hoping he doesn’t sing it in public…somebody could take offense, but the point is, he was passionate about the topic and was moved to write a song.
Oh, the joy of raising little boys… 🙂
