Time with the boys

There are mothers who are intimidated by their boys. Maybe they didn’t have brothers. That would be me.

Maybe they didn’t have any siblings at all. That would be me.

Maybe they’d never babysat or changed a diaper. That would be me.

I had, however, read Little Men and somehow I thought I’d be a mother to boys. Then when I saw Doris Day in the movie Please Don’t Eat the Daisies (a thousand years or so ago), I was happy at the thought of rearing boys.

Then I had granddaughters. Now I see life as even more amazing through the eyes of girls, and yes, it’s fun. But still…having two little boys living close enough to pop in at any time is one of my greatest pleasures. They never announce their presence; they just appear. Sometimes I see their two heads bobbing through the woods on the way to our back yard where they fish in the pond. They’ll come in the house and rummage through the trash to find an empty milk jug to make a fish trap or search for plastic bowls with lids to house the various critters they caught. Sometimes these are frogs, sometimes salamanders, occasional snakes, and their all-time prize catch: mud puppies. (I still don’t know what those are.)

We live in a safe area—safe that is, unless you consider rattlesnakes and water moccasins and poison ivy dangerous. Thankfully they know how to identify such things (they reassure me) and if something dangerous is “too near the house,” they kill it. Without restricting them to the confinements of the inside couch with all the temptations of technology and “devices” (which they don’t have), I have to allow them to be free and roam as they please all over the farm. Personally I think the dangers of the internet are more risky than poisonous snakes.

They are responsible when it comes to informing the parent where they are, as illustrated by the following note found stuck to the back door of their house, secured by a bandaid.

Recently the two aforementioned grandsons spent a Saturday morning with me. Charlie wanted to earn a little pocket change, so I decided to utilize his skills at mopping and waxing the kitchen floor. He approached the project with enthusiasm and expectations. After instructing him in the difference in “scrubbing” and “swiping,” by the third pass with the mop, the floor was verifiably clean. To keep it that way longer, I asked him to apply a coat of liquid wax. He said he’d never waxed a floor before so I told him the main rule was not to walk on it until it was totally dry , so to consider where he’d step before he squirted it on. Innovative little rascal that he is, he devised the perfect plan.

Later on that afternoon, I decided we’d go strawberry picking. The season was drawing to a close, so I knew they’d be challenged to find berries, but that wasn’t the point anyway. Jumping over the rows without damaging the plants was much more fun, although in the end we had a decent amount of sweet fruit. They opted to keep it at my house “away from the girls” (their sisters).

After realizing how effective an 11 and 9 year old team can be, we moved onto more responsibility. We have a curtain of English ivy growing on our house. Everybody comments on how it enhances the look of the structure in a positive way, but trimming it back to keep it from taking over the entire house is challenging. I received a text from their 17 year old cousin asking if I had any chores they could do for money since they were “saving for something big.” (I can’t even imagine.) “How are you at trimming ivy?” I responded.

So the next day I hear scraping and chipping on the side of the house and find Charlie at the top of the ladder, his older cousin holding the ladder, and Benjamin gathering the clippings. Teamwork!

Three hours later, the deed was done and they actually did a credible job, especially considering the height of the growth and the angles of the edges.

I look at pictures like these and count my blessings. Our grandchildren are healthy and willing to help with chores. Indeed, I think they get satisfaction from seeing their efforts accomplished. It’s proof enough when they want to show their parents the finished task rather than the pocket change they received.

Thank Heaven for little boys.