Let's hear it for the boys!

I wrote a post a couple weeks ago about the ten things I want my daughter to know. I have six children, five of them are boys, and one of those boys is my stepson. I wanted to write something to each of them, so this may be a bit long, my apologies a forehand.

I didn't want children when I was younger. I really didn't like kids. If I was going to have children, they would be girls, and I would have two. If my husband was really insistent, I might acquiesce to have four at the max. But all girls. No smelly, loud, disgusting boys. I made a bargain with God when I was 14 that if I didn't bite my nails for an entire summer that He would never give me stinky, rude, obnoxious boys.

God apparently didn't understand the terms and conditions of our deal.

Raymond, my "ray of sunshine" you have been my hero so many times I scarcely know how to express my regard for you. You helped usher me into adulthood, weathered so many trials and tribulations with me, and were the hapless guinea pig of my early parenting attempts. The first one always gets the brunt of the bad, I believe, and you were no different. I really did try my hardest to be a good mother, always with the most noble of intentions, and doing all I could to do the best by you. 

The first time I saw your face, nuzzled my nose into the softness of your newborn head, breathed in the new baby smell of you, I knew, perhaps for the first time ever, what true undying love and devotion meant. I caressed your tiny hands, counted those sweet little toes, kissed your little mouth and nose and promised you I would never stop loving you. I swear, I heard Roberta Flack singing that song, "The first time, ever I saw your face" in my head when I held your tiny six pound body close to me, and laid there alone with you in that hospital bed in Allentown. I wasn't much more than a baby myself, but we would learn together Ray. You gave me the gift of motherhood, you taught me so much.

You taught me about the healing power of love. I thank you. Your presence brought about changes in my life that you weren't aware of. Your Nana, who was not happy that I was having a baby, even up to the day that I was in labor with you, suddenly found her world began revolving around you as well. You helped my mother and I forge ahead in our fractured relationship, our mutual love of you helped heal many wounds that we had inflicted upon each other. 

You are the only one of my children that my beloved Pappaw got to hold. He died just after Taylor was born, but looking at the picture that I have of my grandfather holding you in his lap while he thoroughly inspects this "young feller" is a memory that I will cherish forever. He loved you Ray. He would have loved all of you kids.

Your sweet laugh, your love of winnie-the-pooh (which we watched a thousand times as you sat there in the red rocking chair that had been passed down to me from 3 generations past), and your adoration of your granddad was a blessed sight to behold. I can still hear 2 year old you struggling to say the word, "light" complete with extra l's. 

The face you made when you first ate macaroni and cheese as an older infant is burned into my mind and still makes me chuckle. Your illogical hatred of all things cheese is still a bane to my existence today. Somewhere, somehow, I went wrong.

I can see you, all of three years old, fishing pole in hand, on the banks of a pond with your pappy. I watch his face beam with pride as you catch your first little sunfish.

I remember you in Montana, the day that you went hiking up the big "M" mountain in Bozeman, sack lunch in hand with the gentleman who owned the ranch. You were mighty big stuff that day, and came home feeling like you'd conquered a mountain, which you had at age 6.

Your bond with your brothers, your first day of homeschooling, the first book you read, the first book you wrote (beary bear was excellent my dear, I still treasure that book), your first day at public school, watching you talk about your first girlfriend, and your last day at public school, all of these things I have had the privilege to witness and behold. 

I witness the tenderness towards your little brother and your sister that makes them so lucky to have you around. I watch you scoop up your little sister and hoist her effortlessly onto your shoulders to tote her around when her little legs get tired and in that moment she thinks she's queen of the world. She knows you've got her, and nothing can touch her up there.

Your goofier moments have made me shake my head, sometimes in wonder, sometimes in bemusement. There is never a dull moment with you Ray. How many parents get to say that their son got lost walking back home from a friends house and ended up a few miles away while he carried a bastard sword in its hilt on his hip and had to call for help to find his way? Has anyone ever heard their son say offhandedly, "I work better with penis." in answer to his not knowing how to answer a question about the brain as if this was a normal thing to say?

Even now, as a young adult, I take pride in you, son of my youth, as I watch you forge ahead through uncharted waters.  You took a leap by joining the Army and discovered it was not for you. You soldier on, now looking for work and signing up for college, an experience I had very little of and I am so glad you are now pursuing. You're going to make it Ray, I believe in you, you are made of strong stock and have a resilience that few people your age possess. You are a fine, upstanding young man, and I'm so glad that I'm your mother.

Taylor, my stubborn little surprise...so much to say. Despite my being on the pill, I still conceived you. Your birth was so difficult, what with you being determined to keep your face forward. You were a true face presentation and at the very end of my labor I was afraid I'd lost you, or was about to lose you by how low your heart was dipping. You came out battered, bruised, blue, then screaming within seconds, with very little hair and a ton of baby fat. You looked like a little Winston Churchill that had just been in a brawl. I was often tempted to stick a top hat on you and prop a small stogie in your mouth to complete your look.

I thought you were the handsomest baby boy I'd ever laid eyes on.

Your infancy was probably the toughest of all of my children. You got colicky for several months and nothing I could do would give you solace. If I had known then, what I know now, a trip to the chiropractor would doubtless have given you much relief, but I did not know, and I did my best not to throttle you when you kept me up all night and then kept me from eating anything even remotely warmed up for all of those months.

I remember when you became mobile. As with everything else, you had to do it your own way. No standard crawling for you, no sir! You crawled commando style, belly close to the floor, forearm over forearm for miles and miles across a vast array of surfaces.

In your toddler years, you got RSV and had to be hospitalized, twice, once while I was pregnant with your brother Joseph and ill myself. I still wouldn't leave your bedside. I would be damned if I would leave my child alone with any doctor, ever. You needed breathing treatments for the next couple of years and insisted on being in your superhero cape that Nana had made for you, and sported goggles to complete your ensemble.

You and Ray became best of friends. You and he were always getting into some sort of minor trouble, and I enjoyed it. Your rough and tumble play was refreshing and beautiful. Watching the two of you romp around in the rain, shirtless, splashing and getting muddy was always the highlight of my day when such occasions would present themselves. Your love of splashing got the two of you in some big trouble when you and Ray flooded your Nana's entire downstairs, causing over a thousand dollars in damages. 

At 7, you tumbled out of the second story window while watching Peter Pan upstairs in your room. You laughed so hard that you fell backwards into the screen and it gave way, plunging you into the prickly holly bush below, which probably saved you from breaking something. When I opened the door to go find you after Ray's frantic cries alerted me that you had fallen out of the window, you were standing there, crying, scratched up and missing a shoe, but otherwise intact. I wasn't sure whether to kill you or kiss you, so I hugged you tightly instead and checked you out head to toe to be sure nothing was broken.

When we would travel with your adoptive Dad, you soaked in the sights and scenery of new places. You absorbed every historical sight, every grand redwood tree, every new opera, every national park or monument, every new food, and of course every English and European castle, as if you were a barren dessert being soaked with a deluge of rainwater. You questioned everything, and everyone. You stood up for yourself and forged your own path, much to your adoptive Dad's chagrin and much to my delight. You are your own unique person, and you embrace that. It's such a gift to have that self confidence, I envy that in you.

You're a great listener, a great talker, and have such an amenable way about you that you put everyone around you at ease. How many hours have we logged in just sitting around chatting with each other, sharing you tube videos, talking politics, religion, the necessity of feminism, the injustices of the world,  and ways to potentially either make the world a better place, or place it under your thumb of total master-mind world domination?

I've held you when you needed comfort over scraped knees and through sick, fever-filled nights when you were a little boy. I hugged you tightly and felt your sorrow when a girl first broke your heart. I've seen you grin with pride when your sister asserts herself without apology,(I'm fairly sure she got that self confidence from watching you). I've witnessed you laugh until you cried while hanging out with your brothers, watching movies, or just sitting around telling stories. 

You have returned the favour for me, hugging me and making me laugh when times got tough after your adoptive Dad moved out. You've reassured me in the past when I've wondered out loud if I screwed up all of my children's lives. You've forgiven me of past wrongs and humbly apologized when you messed up. We move on together you and I, and keep no tally book betwixt us of offenses, real or imagined.

You are wiser than your years, and have been a wonderful son and now a fast friend as you become a man. I look forward to all of your adventures in the next 17 years. I wonder...Where we all will be then? Of this I have no doubt, we will still be close, and you will still be close to your siblings. 

Oh, and you are still the handsomest second son I have ever had.

Joseph, another surprise that was most welcome. I didn't think I needed you. I didn't know how I was going to provide for you, how I was going to be able to hold it all together for you.

I was wrong. I needed you, and I and my parents provided for you at first, and you held me together by needing me and loving me. When I was at the height of suicidal depression as my marriage fell apart, you saved my life by your very existence. I couldn't hurt me, without hurting you, and so I didn't.

I was seven months pregnant with you when I left your biological father. You never knew him, you only ever knew your adoptive Dad as your Dad. Your bio Dad just was not in a place to be a father at that time. You know that story, so I won't get into that, but just know that you were always, always wanted by me.

Your precocious little grin and proclivity to get into all sorts of artistic trouble kept me on my toes. From the various ways that you "painted" the walls, to the infamous powder incident which I now understand Master Taylor had a hand in, you were always into something. Your curiosity of how the world worked, how different things felt, sounded, and tasted was infectious. You could blow bubbles for hours and swim til exhaustion set in and you'd fall asleep wherever you happened to flop. Your unending energy as a preschooler caused me much tiredness and also much elation.

Watching you learn how to ride a bike for the first time with your brothers and your Daddy helping made my heart leap for joy as if I'd never beheld a similar sight. Seeing you colour, or draw, or paint and viewing the pleasure that you took from such activities was amazing to watch. How many times did we all put up with Mulan back to back marathons? I don't know, but I loved that you loved this movie about a fierce warrior woman.

We tried homeschooling, didn't we, my little lifesaver? It didn't work for us, but oh how we tried. You were the child that caused me to suddenly realize that I didn't know everything when it came to educating my children. So many tears from both us, my feeling like a failure as a mother and teacher, and your feeling overwhelmed and stupid was crushing to both of our spirits. I finally realized that going to school was the best thing for you, but I feared for you, that you would flounder there.

You didn't flounder. Once you got settled in, you started to find your niche and you made your own way. You grew slowly, awkwardly at first, and then steadily stronger and more mature. Your struggled academically more than your siblings but you have never given up and your Dad and I worked with the schools to help you as best as we could. You made friends, you fell in love, your heart broke, and then you found new love. I watched and continue to watch this as you now prepare to attend high school and I am proud of you.

And yes, I love that we are so close that I can come to you with all of my "woman" troubles. (sorry Joseph, just had to bring that up, no not sorry, had to bring that up)

It warms my heart to see you playing with your younger brother and sister. You make Emma laugh and you get her to rough house play with you, and  then she gallops around and climbs all over you, and you take it all. I watch you with her and I know that you'd do anything for her. She is right to completely trust and love you. You are an excellent big brother. You and Daniel out in the yard, shooting bows and arrows or your throwing knives is your way of helping him develop confidence even if you aren't aware that you are doing that.

How can it be, that you, my tow headed little boy with the infectious laugh and proclivity to climb any object in sight, grew to be the tallest in our house? Can you really be over six feet tall at age 15? Will you really be driving next year? How did this happen? And how can it be that you, even towering above me, can melt all the days cares away by wrapping your lanky arms around me and telling me that you love me? You're pure magic my son. You are an ethereally bright star in my galaxy, and I thank you for being you.

Daniel, your Daddy and I wanted you so much. You came into our lives just under two years into our marriage. You were my first home waterbirth. You were my easiest labor of all of my children. 

I nursed you the longest, this time because I had the necessary support, education, and experience to make it happen. You refused a bottle and refused to leave my side except for very short periods of time for the first three months. I was a little frustrated with this, but I also enjoyed it so very much because I was the center of  your universe. Parenting books will often say that babies think they are the center of the universe, but I haven't found that to be true. Babies are still a part of their mother for that first year, and together, they are the center of the universe. You taught me to set aside any selfishness for me and focus solely on your genuine needs and wants. 

Just as an aside: Your Nana Charlie thought you were the prettiest baby she'd ever seen.

As you grew, we traveled to England and lived in Leeds for four months while your Daddy performed Tosca at Opera North. You would jump and jump and jump until you fell asleep in the "johnny jumper" that we installed in the doorway to the living room. Daddy took to calling you his pumpkin roller and we dressed you up as a pumpkin for Halloween that year when Nana and Granddad came to visit us from America. We returned the next year for more adventures in England and toured the countryside and some of Europe in an old Mercedes station wagon with your brothers.

You used to love to mow the lawn with your Daddy, spending many hours on the tractor and behind your little push mower. I can see you even now, cowboy hat planted solidly on your head, cowboy boots clonking along as you made your way around the yard, all business, nothing to see here, lawnmowers are supposed to blow bubbles. 

You too loved to play in the rain and mud with your brothers, and they wholeheartedly welcomed you into that favored pastime with them when it came around. My oh my but how impressively wet and dirty you could get in such a short amount of time!

You have always been jovial, deep thinking, laid back, and quietly unassuming. But you are smart as a whip and love a good joke or a bad pun. You are really the sweetest boy I've ever known. You haven't gotten into any major trouble yet but if you ever do, I'll still love you.

We've spent a ton of time watching TV and movies together. We have similar tastes in both venues and I always look forward to our times to just sit and watch and chat. Playing video games with you is always a blast and we need to do more of that.

I know you've had insecurities and anxieties about school. I'll never forget you chasing me down in the parking lot as I dropped you off at school and the principal catching up with you to drag you into school. You're a stubborn little guy, but I admire that. That sort of fortitude in spirit will benefit you in the long run. I hated leaving you that day, you were so upset. I cried the whole drive home and most of the morning. We pulled you out shortly after that and did cyber school. You went back to school, and then we pulled you out again due to some more anxieties that you were having. And yet, you are willing to try it again next year. Good for you Daniel! You can do it! You have so much to offer the world and you are always well liked by your classmates and teachers. I know you will be a success.

You are my favourite guy to go shopping with. You have better taste in accessories and shoes than most women do. None of my other boys have ever asked me if they can go with me when I go clothes shopping and truly meant it. We have a blast together and I enjoy our conversations. As you are getting older, and your interests deepen, I am enjoying you more and more on that level. You are going to make someone very happy someday when you get older and ready for a lifelong relationship.

You are always willing to try new things and you put your heart and soul into everything that you do. I think about the times that we have gone fishing, or camping, and how much you enjoyed those things and helped out as much as you could. You're the one kid I have that I don't have to obsessively nag to get things done and I appreciate it. 

You spend inordinate amounts of time with your little sister, putting up with her prattling on about so many things that you must have the patience of Job. You really enjoy each other, and employ a special bond that you two will carry well into your adult years. That's a precious gift my son, you have your little sister's heart ensconced securely in your care to the point that she trusts you and your brothers completely.

Thank you for the gift of your smile, your laugh, your, "How ya doin' Ma?" in the mornings and your willingness to work when others complain. I'm looking forward to watching you as you mature and can hardly believe that in another year you'll be a teenager! I love it, I've enjoyed all of your brother's teenage years and I'm sure I will yours as well. You're going to love it to, I promise!

"Little" Taylor, this is what your new step-siblings have designated you as. We have another Taylor in our house and it just makes it easier in conversation to tell who we are talking about. I realize that you are not the youngest, and are in fact 16 years old. The "little" part refers only to your slight stature but not to your age or to your strong will. I find it amusing that your middle name is Winston, after Sir Winston Churchill, and your step-brother "Big Taylor" had that as his nickname for his first year of life.

I have not known you as long as I have known your brothers and sister. I have not always been in  your life. Before me, you had a wonderful Mommy who from what I gather, doted on you and wanted you as much as I wanted all of my babies, perhaps more so because she had waited until later in her life to become a mom. She and your Daddy didn't waiver in their decision to keep you as your mommy's pregnancy progressed and they found out that you would have special needs. Down's syndrome can be a uncertain diagnosis for families, but you were blessed to have both a Mom and a Dad who loved you and accepted who you uniquely are before you were born.

I know that your Mommy fell in love with you as soon as she saw you, your Daddy has shared as much with me. I know that your Daddy felt so distinctly bonded to you that the intensity of his emotions overwhelmed him. (He confided in me that right after you were born, he went to see Armageddon in the movie theater and cried like a baby, he was still so raw.) I know that your Mommy traveled hundreds, thousands of miles to and from work in Manhattan to be at your side while you were in the hospital at Hershey. Your Daddy made the same trek, albeit somewhat shorter, from his job in Wind Gap to be at your side as well for those many months.

I've seen many pictures of you as you were growing up, from tiny little preemie with tubes and wires keeping you alive, to an infant coming home with breathing apparatus' and feeding tubes, to toddler years and growing physically stronger. Your Mommy Cheryl, and your Daddy are in a lot of those pictures, holding you, caring for you, soaking in the wonder that was you. I know they had some difficult times as you faced surgeries, procedures, and various therapies. I know that caring for you was and is a full time job that often involved a full time nurse but I haven't ever gotten the impression that they ever viewed you as a burden. You were a joy, you were a possibility, you were their beloved son.

As you grew, they sought help from many varied sources and professionals to help you develop your brain and your skills to as much potential as you could. To this day you enjoy a special organic diet rich in nutrients and fats to keep you healthy and strong. Your Daddy, homeschooled you with a special program to help you progress further. How many hours did you two spend on your hands and knees, crawling a circuit around your house, over hand-made ramps that your father made you just for that purpose? How many books did your Mommy and Daddy read to you to stimulate your mind? How many sounds, tastes, smells did they gently introduce to you to arouse your senses? I'm guessing too many to count.

I didn't know your mother. It's possible that I saw her in church but I don't recall. I was married to someone else then, and I did my best not to notice or be noticed by anyone. I was in survival mode. But, I wish I had known her. She must have been a phenomenal woman, with flaws like any woman has, but absolutely the perfect Mom for you. I know your Daddy loved her very much. I am sure that she never thought that she would become ill with cancer and pass away, leaving you and your Daddy behind. I can't imagine that was a part of her plan.

I'm saddened sometimes when I give you a bath and you are splashing around and giggling loudly at the bubbles and the motion of the water. I have a passing thought where I feel guilty that she isn't the one there to be laughing with you, that instead it is I, a total stranger to her, now caring and mothering her son. In those moments, it seems so unfair and sadness overwhelms me. It may sound silly but I have even spoken that thought out loud to her, apologizing for my presence in your life but genuinely thanking her for the gift that is you. She isn't there of course, as I believe that she is in heaven and is no longer in pain, enjoying being in the Glory and the wonder that we as mortals cannot fathom. But, I still have felt compelled to say those things audibly anyhow. Someday, I believe I will be able to meet her and thank her in person for the opportunity to be your step-mother, and for her helping your Daddy to become the excellent husband that he is today. She and your Daddy did the hard work, they paved the way and I now enjoy the fruits of their efforts, sometimes feeling wholly unworthy to partake, but extraordinarily blessed to be doing so. I feel so grateful to her.

I don't know you yet as well as I know your brothers and your sister, but I know that I love you. You may not be biologically mine and I will never be your biological Mommy, but I will always be whatever you need me to be. Nurturer, caretaker, Step-Mother, comforter, tickler, cuddler, cook, laundress, all of this and more is what I offer to you. I will try my best not to let you down. I love you just as if you were born to me, of this fact never doubt.

I remember that you were hesitant about me at first, which was natural since we don't know how much you totally understood about what was going on with your Mom when she passed. That must have been confusing to you, for your mommy to be there all those years and then suddenly she was not. Then a few months later there was this strange new lady in your Daddy's life, which was me, and you didn't know quite what to make of that. But you came around in a couple of weeks to accepting my presence, and then the first time you came to my house you cuddled up right away to big Taylor and settled in on the couch next to him, insisting that he put his arm around you.

I love cuddling with you Taylor. I love it when you swing around the clean laundry and twirl in circles. I love it when you get pushy about getting a drink or needing to eat and guide me out to the kitchen to prove your point. I love pushing you on the swing outside and taking walks with you when you get restless. I even find it funny when you wrap your arms around my neck and act all sweet and then suddenly yank on my hair and laugh hysterically that you shocked me.

I look forward to many more years with you in my life Taylor. I promise I won't ever be a wicked stepmother (except perhaps when you do that hair pulling stunt, it's funny, but not cool man!).

In closing, God didn't give me rude, stinky, obnoxious boys. Ok, maybe sometimes they are stinky...but what I got was a house full of amazing children, predominantly male in nature. I needed boys apparently. I needed to experience how gentle, strong, loving, loud, tumultuous,and extraordinary boys and young men can be. I needed to learn to appreciate the differences between boys and girls and to not be afraid of those differences. I was meant for this, being a mother to so many boys and to my little girl has been the greatest undertaking in my life. I don't regret having any of them, and I'd do it all again. Large families can be close-knit, they can be loving, and they can be well-adjusted even in the face of adversity and sorrows. I think we're proof of that. God has been good to us, I'm glad He didn't keep his side of my silly deal.