In case you can’t tell by the picture, this is a polo match. With horses and clubs and a white ball that riders whack with said club while galloping at a pretty good clip.

I want to learn how to play polo.

Of course, I don’t have the polo pony to go along with this desire. That could be a problem with learning to play. Or at least, playing on a team. No matter. I’m not getting a horse anytime soon.

Stupid economy.

So, as you can probably guess, I went to a polo match. Me with my “Horses are wonderful! Isn’t this exciting! Let’s stomp divots!” enthusiasm. I had a great time. Doc seemed to like it too.

The kids? Maybe I shouldn’t talk about them. They were less than thrilled. Which might be good in the long run because if one of my kids got the horse-obsessed bug, I’d be bummed to tell him or her no to horse ownership. Pity it’s so expensive, these glorious animals.

I wish I had a picture of the worst of the four. The chief complainer, the boy child named for a particular Biblical king. He was King of Boredom yesterday.

Poor boy. O, to be nine and away from a computer screen! O, to be subjected to what your mother says is the Sport of Kings.

Don’t make me watch another polo match ever again, Mom! It’s so boring.

Heh.

Doc and I plotting and scheming our next visit with a proper tailgate meal. A picnic worthy of polo – not a favorite sport for one named for a king.

King of Boredom is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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Captured is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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“I like pie.”

“Your face.”

Minecraft, Spore, swimming, LEGO,
Encyclopedia Brown, Paul from across the street and silliness.

You are all about the silliness, young master.

I love you. Hope your 9th birthday is just as special (and silly) as you are.

This is you, my boy is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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Let me set the scene for you: Last July. Island Beach State Park. Our beautiful Jersey Shore. Leftover lunch.

A boy always willing to try The Crazy.

Today’s post is inspired by my friend, Katey, buried in Idaho snow.

You’ve heard of Angry Birds? I give you Hungry Birds is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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Happy Birthday, young master.

Happy Birthday to my firecracker boy is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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Silhouette swing is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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No girls were hurt in the making of this video.

A video funny is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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The real purpose of math manipulatives is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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I am a mom of two boys (two girls, too, but this book isn’t about the fairer gender, so I’m not going to mention their antics. To be fair to the boys, my girls have their moments of bizarre behaviour.) These sons of mine – let me show you recent pictures so we’re all clear as to whom I speak:

The First Boy (alias Peter)

and Second Boy (alias Edmund)

See? See what I’m dealing with? These two rapscallions are BOYS among mere wanna-be boys. My boys could win prizes for boyish behaviour (don’t you like the way I keep typing the British behaviour rather than the bland American behavior? Maybe there is an English mother of boys blogging about their behaviour who thinks she’s so clever with her use of the American spelling?)

In honor of Ms. Blackmer’s book of how to thrive with these goofy, messy, loud, muddy, make-you-wanna-pull-you- hair-out boys, I’m linking to my all-time favorite post about mothering boys. It’s at New Jersey Moms Blog. Here is a tease:

My boy peed on the gas grill.

That’s a true story. If you have more time to read, here are more real-life boy posts.

I love my boys. Really! I swear I do. Life would be rather dull without them.

And I will have my revenge.

They’re called grandsons.

Click here for more of the Boy-sterious Living blog book tour.

Click here to enter a contest based on the book.

Blog book tour: Boy-sterous Living is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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Too bad for him, I wasn’t about to let him go.

Peter needed two stubborn baby teeth extracted so the adult teeth had room to drop into their proper place. Thus our trip to the dentist’s office. Except once in the chair, Peter wouldn’t cooperate. That needle. The pain. As a nine year old, this was his first experience with Novocaine being injected into his gum line.

The dentist shook his head at me. Try an oral surgeon, he advised. Peter, still wearing a paper blue bib across his chest, had one hand on the door knob. He was desperate to race to the car, to get as far away from that needle as possible.

I hate watching my children suffer pain. If I could take every scrape, every scar, I would. But, alas, pain kind of goes along with childhood. Kids suffer pain. (Welcome to the rest of you life, kids. At least until you go home to be with the Lord. Forever and ever, amen!)

We’ve had our share of injuries here; my kids know pain. Two broken bones (Susan’s wrist; Lucy’s leg), stitches into the tongue (Peter), scalp glued (Lucy), severe burns (Lucy, again. Poor baby!) as well as our share of the less severe scrapped knees and bee stings. (Amazingly, Edmund is the only one to be ER-free as of this writing.)

I remember when Susan received her first vaccinations at the pediatrician’s office. My tiny newborn, a mere six pounds, jabbed by the most unsympathetic of nurses, witnessed by me, a fretful, newbie mother. All I could do was stroke Susan’s arm as I stood by feeling helpless, listening to her loud wailing. I suspect I suffered more than she, because as soon as the shots were done, her cries abated. As for my own tears and trauma, nope, not for awhile.

Fortunately, I’ve also toughened up over the years. Having four kids will do that to a mom.

As for those stubborn baby teeth still firmly embedded in my boy’s head. I needed to make a decision. Poor Peter, jumpy in his sneakers, ready to make his escape out the door into the summer sun. He was sold on the idea of an oral surgeon and anesthesia. I had my doubts. Doesn’t a surgeon equal more money? Plus, more importantly, I was concerned about the next time Peter would face the needle in the dentist’s chair. Cavities happen. I can’t promise my boy a future without Novocaine.

So I did what any other mother of a scared nine-year-old boy would do. I told him to get back up into that chair. And hold still.

As much as I hate to see my children in pain, I know life requires it. When the day calls for bravery and courage, when I need to be tough as nails for my kids, in front of my kids, to show them how it’s done, I can do it.

When Susan needed blood drawn to see if that naughty Lyme bacteria was gone from her body, I talked her through it. When Lucy needed medical care in the emergency room for her leg last summer, I held her in my arms, whispering to her it would soon be alright.

Oftentimes we need to walk through a little more pain to start onto the road to healing.

As a mother, it’s not my job to make life pain free for my children. Life is painful with it’s scrapes, broken bones, and dental needles. Broken relationships, lost friendships and heartache will eventually find my children as they mature and experience life as adults. They are going to need to be brave for that suffering too. Let the learning begin now.

Jesus was a boy once. When Jesus fell and got his rough-boy play cuts and scrapes, did Mary teach him bravery? If Jesus cut himself in the wood shop, helping Joseph, did Mary tell Jesus to be brave as she bandaged the wound?

I bet she did.

When Jesus went to the Cross, to endure suffering he didn’t deserve, did he remember boyhood lessons on bravery from his mother?

I bet he did.

The only thing I can do as their mother is to teach them to be brave.

Back in the dental chair, Peter squirmed. I took both of his hands in mine.

“Now is the time to be brave.”

Finally, after much negotiating for soft-serve ice cream and half-kidding threats of recording his tears for a YouTube video, the needle met the gum line. Tears slid down into his soft brown hair. As Peter took a step closer toward courageous man, my eyes stung with unshed tears.

My boy may have taken all the pain, but he wasn’t alone.

I never promised you no Novocaine is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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Let me tell you about my first boy…

The other day I was at my mom’s when she asked Peter, my nine-year-old, to read something. We were gathered in the living room, playing a game, having a good time goofing off together. Peter looked at that little paper slip held out to him, glanced at me sitting on the sofa across the room. His eyes void of all confidence.

“No, I won’t. Not with my mom in the room.”

Heart-broke home schooling mom, that’s me.

That flash into my boy’s heart was a real eye-opener.

Peter never has that look when talking to an adult, playing a video game or riding his bicycle.  This is the child who always wants the WHY and HOW. This is the kid, who at the age of five, took the logical leap from knowing how his baby sister would come out of me, to how baby got in there in the first place.

He loves Story. Magic Tree House, The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, My Side of the Mountain, Story of the World – he listens to audio books for hours at a time. He takes apart the VCR to get it working again. He’s discovered the power of combining hammer and nails. There are chickens to chase, crayfish, snakes and turtles to catch in our creek. A bedroom over-populated with Legos. His knowledge about reptiles, birds and animals is impressive. He doesn’t watch Animal Planet, he absorbs it.

But reading? I’ve succeed in turning it into a battle zone. I’ve pushed too hard, too soon. His eyes told me all.

Okay, I admit it: I screwed up.

I should’ve backed off years ago, leaving him alone to play with letters and books, letting him come to reading in his own way and timetable. Alas, I’m an imperfect home schooling mom with an agenda. Not only am I a gung-ho home schooling mom, but I’m passionate about language and words. I love books, writing, anything that smacks of literary, I’m totally into it. I have a B.A. in English with a writing concentration; my own education is language rich; to have a late reader is… unnerving and somewhat scary.

Trusting Peter, trusting God

So how has this affected our home school life? When it comes to reading and traditional “school work,” I’m backing off, letting him absorb the world around him for now, letting him be a nine-year-old boy. Since May, since daily life became busy with travel and summer outdoor fun, I’ve asked nothing formally of Peter in regards to seat work (no math, reading or grammar).

What an amazing and fun age for a child!

Most importantly, at the heart of all this do-no-school-work-existence, is the quest to repair that mother/son relationship. I’m going to do that by letting him read what he wants, when he wants, with no demands from me. Right now as Peter’s mom, and as a Christ-following home schooling mom (that makes a huge difference, right?), I need to trust that this is the right road to travel.

That scared look from across the room? I never want to forget it. Peter – and really, the Lord – told me how I need to keep my eyes fixed on the personal needs of the child, not focused on a how-to-home school book I read years ago. I shouldn’t even be looking at the past success of a sibling.

Each child is unique. I’m thankful that the Lord reminded me in my mom’s living room that day.

A boy and a book

Last week a few of our chickens disappeared from the yard, a trail of feathers the evidence we have a chicken-hungry critter lurking nearby. Peter spent hours building a trap involving a cardboard box, string, bait and an impressive hole. When I asked him where he got the idea for such an elaborate trap, he just gave a nonchalant shrug.

“Oh, I found it in a book.”

Cool. In my mama heart, I’m rejoicing, but I’m not going to say a word to my boy… yet.

Truth in his eyes is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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Because if I were him, I’d be scared to death for my physical safety.

Boys. Oy!

(Yes, this is my attempt at Wordless Wednesday. See more here.)

Surprisingly, this bunny looks calm is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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I’m so proud! He wants to know if his brother’s leg is catching on fire.

Seen and heard: two boys, one magnifying glass and a summer day is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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And so it begins.

Friends – behold, the interesting creature known as The Nine-Year-Old Boy. He runs everywhere. He plays computer games obsessively. This Boy, he who will only be nine once (“Thanks be to God!” says his mother), engages occasionally in behavior we won’t speak write of again. Ahem. The Legendary Peeing on the Grill Incident, for example.

Then there are the days when The Nine-Year-Old Boy gets is right.

Today my version of this boy-man child made his father breakfast in bed, then proceeded to build this quite lovely and extremely functional foot/bike bridge. It’s the Age of the Hammer. Building, creating, pounding wood with nails. No wood scrap is safe from The Boy looking to create a bike ramp. Or tree fort. Whatever captures his imagination.

You did good today, kid.

Tomorrow? You never know with the creature known as the Nine-Year-Old Boy. As the mother of said Nine-Year-Old Boy critter, I’m gonna just go with it, no matter what he choses to create: a mess or a work of art, because that’s what you do when you’re the mother of a mostly domesticated/always entertaining Nine-Year-Old Boy.

Pray for me!

And be jealous.

The Age of the Hammer is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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I love everything about this – the subjects (dinos and cat), sign with cute saying (Epic Dude? Is that the latest phrase?) and he way he used the entire paper. Yes, I think my boy is The Next Big Thing. I’m his mama, you better believe I do.

Epic Dude is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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Anyone else welcome spring like we do, with salamanders and crayfish swimming in a plastic container in the kitchen?

In this house, we welcome spring not with flowers is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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More Wordless Wednesday at 5 Minutes for Mom.

L is for Lego is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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Said one of my boys when he knew I was going shopping for socks and underwear:

“Don’t get me Fruit of the Spirit, I like Hanes.”

Bwahahahahaha. Love it when the lines of The Way and this world are blurred.

Seen and heard: at the breakfast table is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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By Edmund, age 6

Claude Monet has nothing on my boy is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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More Wordless Wednesday at 5 Minutes for Mom.

Dragon, car, monster truck by boy, 6 is a post from: Paper Bridges, © 2005-2010 Monica Brand

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