This week in mom world has been pretty freaking draining if I’m honest. I had one kid acting so delirious that I had to take him to the Emergency Room because this random virus made him wander the neighborhood and not understand anything I said. Scary stuff. Before I could catch my breath, I find out another one of my reproductive results has been, well, let’s just say dishonest and disgusting to the nth. I’d share the appalling details but then some of you would say I kid shame and I’m just not up for defending myself.

I have 4 boys. They all popped out in 4 years like a baby factory. And I didn’t even WANT kids when I slipped that wedding ring on, so the joke is on me. 

Mothers of boys, high-five to each and every one of you. And moms of girls, I hear you’re on a roller coaster, so my hat is off to you as well. Thing is, we don’t really know how we are measuring up in the mom journey until they’re functional adults. I’ve promised my children I’ll visit if they end up behind bars. 

So I sat my boy brood down last night at the table. No, that’s a lie. I told them to sit and they basically ran around the table as I yelled at them for disobeying. 

I asked the darlings, “What do moms of boys need to know? What should we all grasp that we are missing?”  Here are their answers as they punched each other and laughed (in no particular order because I was threatening Time Out like a boss):

• We like to fight.
• We deserve respect.
• We need more food.
• Expect craziness, loudness, and arguments.
• Give more opportunities.
• We are rough.
• Don’t pressure us.
• Playtime is a must.
• Don’t be too hard, don’t be too soft.
• Don’t make us feel left out. Seriously, everyone has a phone but us.
• Raise us with God.
• Make us like what you want us to like when we are young or it’s too late.

I actually thought it was pretty insightful for them to open my eyes to what MY boys need. Yours may be so polar opposite, which is what keeps us in that fight-or-flight mode I guess.

When they all agreed, “Yeah, that’s it. There’s your list,”  I took it to the next level. Oh you’re gonna love this. 

“Okay cuties, what about when you’re grown men? What about having a wife? What will marriage look like? What should you do? What should she do? What have I modeled or failed to model for you? Are you preparing for this?” 

They didn’t miss a beat. I couldn’t write notes fast enough. In no particular order, mom, here’s their marital plan:

• Say “Goodbye, my sweet.”
• Tell her she looks good if she asks.
• Figure out what she likes.
• Buy gifts, flowers, and milk chocolate Hershey bars.
• Hold the door for her.
• Use manners.
• Don’t let her get rained on.
• Clean the house for her. And cook.
• Be open minded.
• Don’t be a smart aleck.
• Bring her breakfast in bed.
• Use a soft voice. Don’t scream in her ear.
• Be funny.
• Teach kids s-e-x while they’re young (yes, he spelled it).
• Make her feel included and special.
• Take her on a yacht.
• She should wear red shoes.
• Tell her that looks don’t matter, we’re going to be late anyway.
• Look good for her.
• Tell her she doesn’t have to work.
• Go on dates often.
• If she wants to be left alone, make the kids leave her alone.
• Buy an expensive ring to propose.

I had to laugh since the fraternity I’m running is pretty comical and it’s laugh or cry most days.

I’m 12 years into this motherhood game and I’ve got a pretty thick skin. 

I’ve been peed on, puked on, pooped on, and had my insides rearranged (twins do a number on that body). 

I went to the Emergency Room 11 times in 7 years (not counting the latest trip). 

I’ve kissed boo boos after yellow jackets attack or the inevitable fall from the tree house occurred. 

I’ve laughed at tantrums (mine are worse) and sobbed as I had to let the baby cry it out in the crib. 

I’ve bitten my lip as I promised that the penis isn’t broken but maybe pulling on it that far isn’t wise. 

I’ve averted my eyes from violence and destruction that occurs hourly in my home. 

I’ve forced kids to watch “Say Yes to the Dress” and asked for help picking out high heels for my night out. 

My tribe of fellas is never boring. And I promise that none will live in my basement when they’re 40. Some days we are laughing as we fight for breath with farts and body odor. Some days I apologize for losing my cool again. Some days I break down in tears and can’t speak, and they rush to my side and rub my back and tell me “It’s okay, Mom.” 

If you’re not a mom of boys, I highly recommend you try to go make one.