I got a call from my neighbor the other day asking me what my mode of operation was with my boys to dispel their frenetic energy on these cold fall days. We commiserated about how the energy of our boys has escalated with the changing weather and how they are reluctant to go outside, leaving us with pent up craziness on all fronts.
Even when eating at the kitchen counter they are unable to stop moving. Usually Hootie-Hoo begins the humming as he happily eats and the other two unconsciously join in. I marvel at how unaware they are of it, the noise, the hum, the fidgeting.
With Thumper now a 10 year old, as he helps me write out a menu for a special dinner we are having I soak up his gracefully tall, slim body which has not yet hit that awkward stage. Memories of him as an expressive, funny, curly headed, naked toddler flashed before me.
His face is becoming more like an adults but his eyes still have the inquisitive, innocent expression from his baby days and every smile and every gesture of love that emanates from his body still warms my soul.
He towers over his brothers often flying off of a piece of furniture to “torture” them, wrestling them to the ground with his sixty-eight pounds of sinewy muscle.
I am waiting for Axel’s big growth spurt but for now he is still little and quietly thoughtful. The other day he commented at the breakfast table that there was something wrong with this life. I wasn’t surprised by this philosophical statement and looked over to hear the rest of his pontification. There he was standing next to a box of Life cereal and was merely commenting on the taste.
I think that I have ruined him lately with my inability to cope with all of his mess. “Yes, mommy,” he replies when I ask him to do something, and then he doesn’t do it. I don’t want him to tread lightly around me with the fear that his boyish ways will stir the disturbing fire that burns within me and spark at every annoying thump or war cry. I must quench that fire.
Hootie-Hoo skips around the house singing and giggling and turning all of my chores into a game, talking incessantly, which makes it difficult to slip off into my own dream world. When he demands an answer from me I tell him that mommy sometimes likes to be quiet and go off to different worlds. He tilts his head sideways to think and replies a few seconds later with, “Mommy, are you going to ever come back to this world?”
Just when I think that I have become numb to all the noise Baddy walks in the door from work yelling out, “Who let the natives out of their cages?”
I remind him that he was once a crazy, loud boy, like his sons, dancing on tables in the classroom and hiding under his sisters bed to scare her at night. He shakes his head and laughs in complete denial.
As a mother of three boys I have no choice but to love and accept their innocence, their playfulness, their youth, their boyhood and fight back the desire to have a peaceful, harmonious home where the buzz is a little softer and the furniture remains in tact.
I will say this, they are most lovable when they are peacefully asleep in their own beds.