The Boy Mom

The basketball shorts, jersey, shoes, and socks are all laid out in a neat pile for tomorrow’s big game.  My day was full of preparations for the first game of the season.  It will be the first game of this year’s Upward Basketball Season that our church hosts for the community.  I coach a cheerleading squad of enthusiastic, first grade girls who will yell and jump, encouraging dribbling first graders on the court while simultaneously fulfilling their dreams of becoming “real cheerleaders.”  Most importantly to me tonight, however, is what will happen the hour before my cheerleaders take the floor.  First thing tomorrow morning, my Kindergartener will play in his very first basketball game.  Ever.

Dear readers, this seems the appropriate time to tell you a bit about my own basketball career.  I’m a tall girl and I enjoy wearing athletic clothing.  That pretty much sums up everything I have ever had in common with any female athlete.  My basketball career consisted of  cheering from the sidelines as a “Boys’ Basketball Cheerleader.”  Therefore, I have a decent understanding of fouls, rebounds, and those referee hand motion things they do.  I think that’s a pretty comprehensive list of my basketball knowledge.  Yep.

In other words, I bought a pair of very small basketball shoes tonight…with the sales guy from the sporting goods store directly beside me, walking me through every step of the purchase.  We can only hope that he knew something about the sport because I was buying what he was selling.  Literally.  I’ve actually come to know most of the people from the sporting goods store rather well, actually.  We’re well acquainted.  Since the Kindergartener turned three a few years ago, I have made several trips to the local athletics store and have asked a million questions about shin guards, batting gloves, cleats, socks, bats, and maybe some other stuff. At the very least, I have a good understanding of which brands are most economical and most durable in baseball gloves.  I’m so clueless about these endeavors.  I’m learning though, as we have three soccer seasons and two tee-ball seasons in the books.  To be completely honest with you, I am loving every minute of it.

Once upon a time, I was well prepared to be a dance mom.  I didn’t have my heart set on being the mom of girls.  In fact, when expecting our oldest child, I actually had a seemingly random hope that he would be a boy, a hope that seemed to blossom from one trip to Old Navy.  (You would understand if you saw the dark blue, fleece sleeper with brightly colored monsters.  I did eventually buy that sleeper for our baby boy.)  Anyway,  I call that “God preparing my heart.”  You see, it isn’t that I expected to raise all girls, but I didn’t imagine raising all boys either.  It isn’t even that I wanted to have daughters.  I think it was more of an issue of being well-equipped to have daughters, according to my own will, that is.  It was mostly an issue of feeling completely unqualified to raise little boys. (Thank you, Lord, for giving me a brother so that I would have some prior knowledge about this very different species of humans that we call: males.)  Frankly, I was always pretty sure that I could have mothered a daughter with very little extra research…unlike learning how to buy soccer equipment.  I have a deep understanding of every role in the Nutcracker ballet because I participated five times, myself.  I danced for thirteen years, in fact, and could easily have picked out ballet shoes and leotards without assistance from a salesperson.  I knew all about American Girl dolls and owned most of those story books. (I actually still know where those books are.  I might be slightly sentimental.  Whatev.)  I did not, however, care to know any more information about the Ninja Turtles.  Yet, I am well versed in the world of mutant, crime-fighting turtles.  I had plenty of dreams for hair bows, girls’ trips to the Muny Opera, bunking parties, and the like.  That, my friends, is not the reality because God has a better design for our lives than we could ever imagine on our own.

My reality was ordained in His book before one of my days came to be.  (Truth.  You can read all about that in Psalm 139, dear readers.)  My beautiful reality is full of dinosaurs, superheroes, pirates, and cowboys.  I know where to buy bow ties and corduroy dress pants.  I pack lawn chairs and water bottles to soccer practices, which I would likely do for a girl as well…I just mean that I do this in lieu of ballet lessons.  I build Lego towers and Lincoln Log houses.  I spike hair and roll the sleeves of dress shirts.  I buy frozen waffles and Clorox wipes in bulk.  I run up stairs yelling, “Hands off your brother!” and I run toward the swing set yelling, “Hold on tight! Mommy’s coming!”  I don’t watch calories anymore because I run…and run…and run.  (Maybe I should still watch calories.  That is not today’s topic.  Let us move on.)  At Christmas, I know which stores sell the castles, dragons, and bat caves at the best prices.   If a sock is pink in this house, it is mine.  If it is black…I lay it in the floor and sort by size.  Black socks could belong to any of the other four people in this house.  (You’d think giving people their own hampers would keep socks separate…but not so much, actually.)  I have a rotating pile above my refrigerator of toys that became weapons and had to be taken away for the week.  Did you know that almost any toy could become a weapon?  This is a fun fact that I am passing onto you, dear future mothers.  Just take it away and move it to the top of the refrigerator for a while.  That seems to keep the people alive the best.  (Sigh.)  I consider myself to be an expert at very few things, but I own it when it comes to stain removal.  Own it, I tell you.  I buy upholstery cleaner in bulk too.  Oh, and we wised up and began paying for accident insurance.  “I hope we never have to use it,” says the ridiculously naïve and hopeful mother within my soul.  I give lessons in crawdad catching and snow fort building.  I count my children every minute of every outing to make sure that someone isn’t climbing a nearby tree.  (1, 2, 3.  1,2, 3.  1,2,3…Who knows why everyone else imagines I am counting, but I know my children well enough to know that they need my vigilant supervision in this stage of their lives.)  I went months without seeing Frozen in theaters, but completely knew the theme song to Lego Movie the week it premiered.  I can speak a language that I call, “Boy.”  Their language involves the frequent use of words like, “girlish” and has more references to poo-poo than I am proud to mention.  I can actually feel the bathroom-humor coming on and can sometimes stop it before it begins in public places…sometimes.  Being the mom of little boys has transformed me in the most unexpected ways.  I’m loving every minute.  (That was a minor fib.  Let’s try again.)  I am loving {almost} every minute, but I will never fully love cleaning the boys’ bathroom.  Ewwww.  The rest…I fully love the rest of being a boy mom.

I don’t have it all together and I don’t pretend to be a supermom anymore.  At the end of the day, I am raising three little men who frequently say, “Mommy, you’re the prettiest girl ever,” and they say this when I am wearing comfy clothes and sporting a sloppy bun on top of my head.  I do not fully understand the inner workings of the boy mind, I tell you.  My husband and I sometimes share a knowing laugh at the timing of their adorable compliments, because it always seems to come when I am on a roll of being make-up-free for four days or I am still wearing my goofy, polka dot pajamas.  Yet, they love their mommy with such deep sincerity.  My other favorite compliment of the Stanford boys is the recurring, “Momma, can I marry a girl just like you one day?”  Be still, my heart.  (For the record, I hope they marry someone far more patient than me…and I hope her taco soup recipe is just a little bit less delicious than mine.)  To be completely honest, I am not quite sure why they think I am such a prize, but little boys seem to have a unique bond with their mommies.  My husband occasionally asks our boys what it is that they find so beautiful about their mommy.  Without fail, they always, always, always say, “She wears lipstick and it is so pretty.”  Bless their little hearts.  May they never notice that the majority of the other women in the world are wearing lipstick, as well…and may they learn to value character over lipstick before they reach marrying age.  Mercy. That could be a disaster.

I am sure you have those moments where you wonder about the heart of God.  I wonder too.  I don’t mean that I question His heart.  I mean that I am intrigued by His purposes.  I know that God’s ways are higher than our ways, and I fully trust His perfect plan.  Well, I trust it the best that I can from day-to-day, but I am a flawed individual with a very real struggle with anxiety.  In this wondering, I often ponder why God blessed me with three little boys and if He gave me to them or them to me.  Who is the gift to whom? Who needs whom the most?  Am I a boy mom so that we will have that desire to adopt in our hearts?  We do plan to adopt…is this part of His plan for me?  Am I a boy mom because some girl, at some point in my life (maybe a daughter-in-law or granddaughter), is going to need my full potential as a girl-mom?  Am I a boy mom as part of my sanctification process to refine the heart idol of perfectionism right out of me?  …because THAT is definitely happening.  (No kidding here.  When someone daily urinates on the bathroom floor, perfectionism naturally has to loosen the strong-hold a bit.  One cannot maintain such high self-standards and live in a frat house, you know.)  Am I a boy mom to mold me into a more adventurous, more courageous, more risk-taking human being for a Kingdom purpose?  Am I a boy mom simply because I have some secret talent to lend to the department of boy-raising?  I could keep going, but the truth is that I don’t need an answer.  God’s plan is perfect and I am truly in awe of His handiwork where our family is concerned.  This unlikely pairing of girly mom and adventurous boys is actually a lovely combination…not to mention highly entertaining for those we do life with.  (Seriously, my very closest friend sometimes sits back and just watches our shenanigans play out with a look of total amusement on her face.  We keep it real.)  This is a great adventure for me.  Whatever God’s purpose, I am truly blessed by the beauty of His plan.

I may feel inadequate.  I may not know how to shop for basketball shoes.   I may not always feel like the right woman for the daily tasks of chasing children and removing stains.  There are days that I feel like I am failing, but God is teaching me lessons of His grace and His love for me in the midst of being a “boy mom.”  His plan, His timing, these children, this Momma–it was all ordained by Him before one of my days came to be.  God is worthy of all praise.  Our rambunctious little men are constant, often loud and messy, reminders that every good and perfect gift is from above.  My assignment as a “boy mom” is a reminder that God doesn’t call the equipped, but rather equips those whom He calls.  My heart is full of gratitude to be raising these little boys into men who will one day be husbands, fathers, and world-changers.  I don’t need to know the reason behind God’s perfect plan.  I simply rest in the assurance of His sovereignty and this absolute truth that I am living: His plan has far exceeded anything I ever dreamed for myself.  Aren’t I so thankful that He is working out His perfect plan for us and that it has proved to be far better than my own?  Absolutely!  This motherhood journey has taught me so much already, about God’s perfect grace on our lives.  I am so thankful to be a boy mom.

May your weekend be full of God’s provision in whichever season you are living right now.  If that season includes sitting on the bleachers, cheering on a Kindergarten basketball player, know that I am cheering right along with you, friend!  Happiest of weekends to you!

In awe of His mercy,

~Courtney