My First Boys

I think I used to be really good with kids. Okay. Maybe not really good. I was never like my sister. That girl could walk into a room and every child in the place would flock to her like birds to the arms of Cindrella. She even decided to change children’s lives for a living. I was not that girl. But I was pretty fun. And energetic. And inventive.

But now,
now I’m the mom. Ugh. The mom. And I don’t always feel fun. Or inventive. And I most definitely don’t feel energetic. Do you? In fact, I have days feel like I’m walking around in a Mombie-like state {yes. That’s a mom/zombie. Just something I thought I’d try out}. I mean, I thought staying home was supposed to be bon bons and soap operas? But these boys of mine, well, they are the only young and restless in my life. And so, as usual, I am at a place where my day is dictated by the unglamourous life of drop-offs, naps, and the like. And I find myself thinking was I better with kids before I had my own? Have I completely lost my fun gene?

For a couple of summers and countless evenings from the time I was old enough to be left alone with children and be responsible enough to dial the numbers 9-1-1, I babysat. Probably a lot younger than is socially acceptable by current day standards, for sure. And I mostly babysat for two little boys {I suppose I should have known then that I would be lucky enough to mother my very own boys someday}. And with those boys, there was so much fun. And energy. We’d play tag. We’d build fort after fort after fort. We’d watch the Jungle Book. We’d play with toy loaders, and trucks, and we’d dig in the sand, and we’d pretend just about anything and everything. I’m sure I yelled at them from time to time. But that was likely more because they were like my little brothers. But mostly, we just had a blast, every day. All summer. We would go to the pool. I think they probably took naps, but I don’t remember that at all. They definitely took baths in their huge whirlpool tub and baths were always so entertaining. I remember thinking bath time was probably the most fun moment of the day. I am pretty sure I let them eat cereal whenever they wanted. For every meal if they preferred {sorry, Judi}. They were definitely always covered in dirt, sand, or otherwise. And one of them would have let me rub his feet all day if I offered. Not only did I love those little boys… but I think they thought I was fun… er, at least I hope. And I think I thought I was, too.

But those little boys have grown up. Into real, wonderful men.

And I’ve grown into a mom.
And so I often wonder, where did that crazy fun girl go?

Now I’m the taskmaster. The one who makes sure the papers are in the backpacks and ready to go to school. The one who knows when the appointments need to be scheduled. And that they need their fingernails cut. The one, along with daddy, makes sure they have at least mustered up the courage to take a no thank you bite at the dinner table. The one who knows what the weather is supposed to be like. And who thinks about washing their Husker gear so it’s ready for game day. I’m the one who feels too tired to play 8 rounds of duck duck goose. I monitor TV intake much more judiciously. Pretend… AGH… I’m the worst at pretend. Pretend means that I have to completely erase all of the adult things from my mind and I don’t always have the ability to do that. And, if I’m being totally honest, I currently count the minutes close to nap time. Because nap time means a little bit of ahhhh time. If even just for a twenty minute overlap. A little bit of time to do something mindless. Even if it’s just going to the bathroom on a solo mission. Don’t get me wrong, daddy is the one, too. When he gets home, he’s right in there with me. But he’s still full of fun. And energy. And mad tag skills.

Sure. We play plenty around our house. We play Legos. And music concert. And we cook in the kitchen. And we draw. And color… a lot. And chat. And build. And we read. And dirty… oh yes, these little boys get dirty. And I get to rub their feet when they actually sit long enough to allow for such things. But I just feel like I was so much more fun before I was a mom. I wasn’t always the one reminding them to pick up their clothes, or stop whining, or use their kind words.

People who are fun? As I already mentioned, daddy. Daddy is about the most fun that fun could ever be. Grandmas and grandpas, oh boy, they take the fun cake. Aunties and uncles, they are also pretty entertaining. And the babysitters… oh they are pretty much God’s gift of fun to the earth. But moms. When it comes to our house mom is sort of meh in the fun department.

I think part of the feeling comes from the fact that I feel like I have to make sure each boy is getting what they need. And sometimes, I forget that all they really need is me. They don’t need clean clothes. They don’t need homemade dinner every single night. They don’t need the counters wiped down. For my sanity, though, I need those things. I need order. And cleanliness. Even if it means nothing to them. And I worry about making sure they are getting the proper tools to be good, kind, someday independent humans. For my job satisfaction, I need those things, too. And of course, I worry about if they feel loved. And that is one area, I know I don’t cut corners. I know that I do a lot of things very well, and I know that I am happier than happy to get to be a mama, I just wish I could be a little more zany in the playing process. And a little less focused I suppose, on life. With my first boys, I could be wild and free, because ultimately, I wasn’t the one held accountable for the people they became. But if I could take one bit of credit for their awesomeness, I’d be pretty proud. Because those two boys, my firsts, are pretty darn incredible.

So how do we find a middle ground? I would call it balance but I am sort of over believing that any real longevity of balance in real life is possible. So a middle ground. As mothers… how do we balance being the taskmaster and being the funmaster? Doing things for them and doing things for us? How do I channel the girl that let them eat cereal every day and built forts like it was my job? And put it together with the needs-to-happen {or mama-wants-to-happen} stuff?

How do we put the fun back in functional?