All about the boys.

Making things for boys is sometimes just plain hard. No hair ribbons, or dolly clothes. Nix the cutie pie Japanese stationary and stickers. Boys, well, they want other stuff. Made by Rae has been hosting Celebrate The Boys this month. There are lots of great projects for boys, things to do, things to make. Good stuff. I particularly love the Paratrooper Softie made by Beeper Bebe. I can see lots of those being thrown around here. And of course, everybody needs a yeti. If you are looking for some boy inspired inspiration check out the Flickr Pool. Holy tons of awesomeness Batman.
I love having boys. I didn't think that I would. When Doodle was born I was bitterly disappointed. I had been certain that he was a girl, besides we already had one boy. Everyone I knew had one of each. That's just the way it was. In any case, I was disappointed for a few minutes. And then it hit me. I would never have to navigate the treacherous waters of parenting a teenage girl. Ugh! I was a horrible teenager. Extra horrible to my Mom. In my world view she didn't measure up. I was ( and still am) a born and bred feminist. A women's libber. Staunchly in favour of a woman's right to be any damn thing she chooses. I could never understand my Mother's reluctance to get out of a troubled marriage, her ability to continually put herself in the backseat. It was not until I was much older that I understood she was coping, she was surviving and she was in her own way rebelling. When a band teacher wouldn't let me play drums because he "already had one girl drummer", my Mom marched herself to school and read them the riot act. The band teacher agreed to let me play, but we moved before the next semester started. When the U.S. Navy refused to consider my application for Officer School ( get up off the floor people, I was young. ) because I listed "Fighter Pilot" on the application, my Mother wrote letters, made phone calls and cajoled Senators. It didn't work. But not for lack of trying. Women were not allowed to fly in combat for another 10 years. When a high school history teacher suggested The Diary of Anne Frank for me , instead of Mein Kampf, which the boys were reading. My mother went to school and suggested that since I was already the only girl in the class they might be wise to resist blatantly teaching me a different curriculum. She was no pansy.

I hope that I am raising my boys to respect both men and women for all their skills, for all the different parts of their gender identities. I hope that I am the kind of mother that will defend their right to be whomever the are. Whatever their choices. I hope that I am raising good men.Mom and I Disneyland 1980, courtesy of Raelene.