Raising Sons

 

Raising boys

Is urine on the toilet seats,

And on the tile walls behind it,

And pooling on the floor

(Which you only find late at night

After stumbling with eyes closed

Down the hallway.)

It’s flexing in every mirror,

Toothpaste in the sinks 

and painted on the counters.

Raising boys is a mad house

Of yelling and wrestling and 

Throwing punches instead 

Of saying I love you.

It’s asking what’s for dinner 

at every breakfast,

Second breakfast and lunch.

Raising boys is empty pantries,

Empty Freezers and  empty refrigerators.

It’s an endless grocery list 

that’s consumed as soon as it’s restocked.

It’s having pajama, croc clad boys

Meet you to unload the car of packages 

and bags every time you come home.

It’s texts of “where did you go?” and “when will you be home” after only half an hour away.

Like you left them for a month

and didn’t leave a note.

Having boys is realizing

That one day you may be 

the other family.

The in laws, The other grandparents,

The back up family getting second holidays.

Having boys lets you see your husband,

His brothers, and his mother

In a light no one else can see shine. 

How they loved and fought,

Antagonized but defended,

Pledged a silent allegiance

Over legos and backyard ball,

Mosh pits, and at concerts.

And suddenly, I want to embrace

The brothers he has left. 

Bc they are his Solomon, and Eli. 

His Jonas and his Ben.

His brothers. Born from a faithful love,

Made loyal in the woods at Stoney point. 

Being a boy mom is knowing 

The bits and pieces of growing and birthing

Are a tale only you will revere,

A story only retold 

In your memories

As they spread their wings

And fly away.