I have three sons. Growing up I only had one sister, so this realm of boys is new to me. Sure, I have a degree in child development, but that doesn’t seem to give me any edge in raising these somewhat foreign creatures. I’ve come a long way in nine years of boy-momming. I’ve learned to handle Venus fly traps, master knowledge of Star Wars planets, build amazing Lego ships, make parachutes out of tarps, and embrace loud noise and dirt. Still there is a long way to go to get them from where they are now to where I hope they will be as men.
“Please grab the door for me, son!” I implore as, laden with Sunday bag and child, I attempt to make it through the perilous double set of doors at the church with three kids in tow. “This is how to be a gentleman,” I whisper and wink as I pass him in the breezeway.
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