This Full House Archive

Tag: raising boys

“Man”ifest Those Post Its, My Son

Glen is 12, going on boyteen and, being raised in a house, filled with females, he's grown used to navigating through a raging sea of hormones.

Also, rooting through an endless supply of feminine products, because, well, there has GOT to be a roll of toilet paper, in there, somewhere, DAGNABIT!

On the other hand, our house seems to be a breeding ground for random pieces of bar soap and I guess we could always recycle them into something fun and useful…but…EWWWW!

Aaaanyway, all bathroom issues aside (you're welcome!) my son remains light-hearted about growing up in a testosterone-ly-challenged environment…mostly.

Although, I do make a point of reminding him, that he is the ONLY person, in this house, who does NOT have to share a bedroom (doorless, as it is) with anyone.

So, I was upstairs helping my son put away his summer clothes (wishful thinking, I know) the majority of which do NOT fit, so we made a quick job of it, by the way (UGH!) when, a giant dust bunny rolled out from underneath his bed and scared our socks back to their original color.

Apparently, his version of "clean your room," is slightly different from mine, by definition (i.e. picking your clothes up from off the floor is clean enough) I blame his sisters.

One by one, we took stuff off, from on top of some other stuff, moved more stuff and, DANG, the boy REALLY didn't have as much room as, you know, I led everyone, here, to believe….sorry.

"Can we put any of this stuff in the garage sale?"

[shiver]

I know, I hate garage sales, too. Still. We need the room and he wants a new skateboard, so on and so forth.

"Sure, if you're ready to let it go."

It's not like when they were younger, when I waited until they were in school to get rid of stuff (sorry guys!)

Besides, I still remember feeling MORTIFIED when my mom found AND read my diary and, well, I really, really don't want to go there.

"Maybe we could move things around a bit, too."

Since, you know, Glen was at school, the last time I changed his room around, by myself…WHAT?…he was still in single digits, at the time (I think!)

FLASH FORWARD: 3 hours later (for real, I checked!)

TAH-DAHHHH…I helped Glen create his very own official man cave…please disregard the hearts and flowers border…it used to be my room…B.G. (before Glen) and, well, life is good, once again…or, at least, this one rainy weekend.

I took some clean clothes up this morning and saw that he's since included a bunch of post its on his mirror.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was his version of a vision board and, well, suffice it to say, we got to talking about a lot of stuff, in those 3 hours and, even though I would LOVE to show you, it's not my place to tell you.

Okay, just one: Stay focused.

I think it's a boy thing, but also admitted that, some adults, even parents (ahem!) have difficulty, dealing with too many distractions, so on and so forth.

[taking an even closer look]

Aaaand, there's this one: Get more Axe gel and deodorant!

It's okay, anyone who's raising a boyteen already knows why that particular "post it" was being referenced to, in the short term, of course!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

May 23, 2011
Best to Worst Combinations of Children
Guess How We Ranked?
A friend of mine posted this link to an article on Facebook, yesterday, stating, “Want to be happy? have two daughters,” and, seeing as three out of four of my kids are, you know, hormonally-enthused (ahem) my first thought was, WOW, we must rank pretty-gosh-darned-high, for once, dagnabit.

Apparently, we do, in the worst possible way:
“BEST” TO “WORST” COMBINATIONS OF CHILDREN
1. Two girls
2. One boy and one girl
3. Two boys
4. Three girls
5. Three boys
6. Four boys
7. Two girls and one boy
8. Two boys and one girl
9. Three boys and one girl
10. Three girls and one boy <— WHOO-HOO, THIS IS US!!!
11. Two boys and two girls
12. Four girls
Of course, results are highly subjective, however, I was relieved to learn that parents, with four children of ANY gender, in general, found it harder, with meal times, mornings and the bedtime routines stated as being more difficult.

Well…DUH!…and I mean that in the most subjective way possible.

Long story, short (I know, too late, still) it brought to mind a pretty funny thing that happened with my son, the other night.

He was sort of annoyed with his sisters (no surprise there, right?) then, had a HUGE mental blow out with his dad and me (see last parenthesis) ran up to his bedroom and this is the part where he would have SLAMMED the door…if he had one.

Instead, he came back downstairs looking for…wait for it…A HAMMER!

[eyes go wide]

“Or, do you think this would break open if I bashed it on the ground?”

Apparently, he was rummaging through his stuff, found his old ATM-style-coin-bank-type-thingies and, well, I was just sort of happy he didn’t choose something a little more, you know, bashable.

“I’ll get it open for you.”

Because, I happen to come from a family of 2 kids (one boy, one girl) and can handle stuff like this better than my husband, Garth (not his real name) who has 4 siblings, which, does NOT even rank on the charts…understandably.

Also, my father was the king of “let’s just jimmy this sucker open!”

“But, I lost the combination!”

Having also inherited our habit of, you know, losing keys.

“Hand mommy that screwdriver, over there, would ya’?”

After a few minutes, I was able to get it open (after taking out the batteries, in order to kill…I mean…quiet the stupid alarm, of course) I then sat back and watched, quietly, with extreme prejudice, not saying a word, as my son carefully extracted its contents:

* One G.I. Joe figure
* Two quarters
* One stretchy man
* One Junior D.A.R.E. badge
* A picture of his 2nd grade class trip to Sandy Hook
That last one helped us date these treasures and I half-expected my 12 year-old to go all boyteen, on me, or something.

“You know, I can’t believe I thought any of this stuff would be SO important to me!”

Me. Still. Not. Saying. A. Word.

“Boy, was I stupid!”

Morale of the Story: 2 out of 3, 3 out of 4, whatever, one day, it just won’t matter as much, oh, and in this house, we don’t need no stinkin’ combinations, either!

Or, something like that.

“You should really blog about this, mom!”

Really? Can I?

“Yeah, so I can read it, for the next time I get MAD AT YOU for NOT HAVING any MORE BOYS!”

I rest my case!!!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
April 8, 2011
Raising a Manchild (Kind Of, Sort Of!)

12 years ago, on the 23rd of January, at 2:05 p.m., I gave birth to a son and, although your sisters could not wait to meet their new baby brother, I was terrified at the thought of raising a manchild.

You see, like your sisters, I'm a girl (AM SO!)

I know how girls think (sort of!) although, I'm not saying that they are any better (or, worse!) it's just that, I don't know, boys are different.

Then, just as we started getting used to each other (kind of!) you became a big brother and a real good one, too…by the way…even when you would find your G.I. Joes and Power Rangers, left accidentally on purpose, half-naked in the bath tub, surrounded by bald-headed Barbie dolls.

Girls are weird, I know (they get that from daddy) still, now that you are 12, going on boyteen, I can't help but wonder…OMG!…how in the heck did we get here?

Where DID the time go…can't we hold onto your childhood, just a little while longer?

Then again, according to your baby sister, you ARE a man (how awesome is that card, right?) and she's absolutely right…you're awesome…next I'll tell you something you don't know.

Yesterday, at 2:05 p.m., you made a wish and, although I can't promise it will come true or, that growing up will get any easier (dagnabit!) I will always be your mom, no matter what (yes, REALLY!) aaaaand, you will probably be way taller than me, too…DAGNABIT!

Happy Birthday, I love you, BIG GUY!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

January 24, 2011