We have just finished another season of baseball! What a difference a year makes. My big guy took about six games to hit a ball, but once he finally connected, Oh Boy! Thanks to the fine coaching staff of the ELL! It was so fun. The Dads and Moms (I love that Moms are in the thick of it!) are the coaches and while my husband loves to be Coach, I think he was more thrilled that P wanted to play this year. He agreed to coach not to create a ball player or replay his athletic prowess. A natural athlete, my husband is not the kind of Dad who lives vicariously through his boys…but I think he is hopeful they will love to do something with a ball or racket. Our first born came without the natural ease toward sports and would probably rather spend his time at the zoo or the swamp at the nature center nearby. So his desire to play ball has been a particularly wonderful thrill. I hope he will want another go of it next year.
As Father’s Day approaches, I think of the way George fathers my boys. He was totally in it when the boys were born. He agreed to all my crazy parenting ideas and prides himself on being able to sleep like a ninja on two inches of bed space. He changed diapers, tried to feed them though they shunned the bottle and was the most excellent napper alongside them. He hovered over them when they were babies, signs the homework assignemnts and never ever raised his voice. His quiet manner should not be mistaken for passivity but the most active conscious way of fathering his children. I think it’s why, on the long days I work, my boys love having him all to themselves. That day is peaceful, fun, no ordering about and total undisciplined discipline.
Mothering two boys does not come naturally to me. My house was full of girls, so I am learning much from the Father my husband is as he maneuvers the testosterone in our house. My tolerance for fart sounds, video games, random sword fights on the bed and spaz attacks is rather slim in comparison. I have been warned that age does not change the laugh out loud humor of a good poop joke. I am trying. My way of coping is to read and that I do a ton, you name it, I read it. George on the other hand is one of three boys and so he goes by an instinct that bodes much more confidence. The volume in the house does not bother him one iota. It can rattle me right to the core at times. And then when put to a question…the crickets start chirping. I seem to better understand the language of girls. I get the preening, the anxiety, the angst, the gestures, the drama. Drama of boys has a tune all unto itself. For this Mother, it’s like a scavenger hunt to figure out what one word might mean, cause that’s all I will get no matter how creative the question is posed.
Some day, my boys will be husbands and fathers. I hope they are as calm, firm and fun as their Dad. He has been a wonderful example of a man. But I hope they talk a whole lot more!
Happy Father’s Day GBR