Why #Iloveraisingboys

 I was standing in my kitchen when it happened again. I got “the look” from an acquaintance. That look when I tell people I have three sons and they shake their head apologetically, raise and eyebrow or two and sigh under their breath. I want say “Don’t pity me! Having 3 sons is a tremendous blessing.” (Confession: I have wanted the pity at times - especially when they were ages 5 and under!) Instead I smile extra big and try to explain, “It’s a lot of fun.”

I wish they could see all the things I see. I’ve begun my own little visual campaign: #Iloveraisingboys. As I slow down to snap a quick pic I’m savoring those moments and appreciating this crazy boy mom life a little more. 

I’m not on a campaign against girl moms. I’m not saying boys are better than girls. Honestly I wouldn’t know because my only girl is part lab. Raising kids no matter the number or the gender is a selfless, sacrificial act, and if all goes right will leave us more like our Heavenly Father. And hopefully with well-adjusted adult children as our friends.

Yes there are days of way too much noise, chaos and potty humor for this lone female. But there are also a lot of little wonderfuls about raising these boys into men. Their fierce protective instincts of anything they deem theirs, like me. J Their constant building of anything from traps out of laundry baskets, to weapons from cardboard and duct tape. Their search for the highest hill to sled down, tallest tree to climb or widest field to foot race across.

All too soon their endless hours of energy and play will have to cease. They will be burdened by life’s responsibilities (and making lots of cute grandkids for me to love….please, just one granddaughter is all I ask).  They will have to build portfolios instead of forts, climb the corporate ladder instead of trees, and plan out budgets instead of Lego lands. So for as long as possible I want them to just be boys. All boy. And I don’t want anyone clicking their tongue at them and telling them to settle down…I do enough of that for them, thank you. Instead I want to enjoy all the crazy different things that this life of being boy-trapped entails. As I watch my boys precariously perched atop a play structure, breaking every carefully written rule for use, I smile and think, I love raising boys.