You’ve seen them before—like a bunch of wild hyenas on the loose, making a ruckus wherever they go. They’re loud, messy, and full of energy. You can’t help but watch as they tumble into the bushes, their giggles echoing in the air.
I used to feel sorry for the mom of three boys—the dirt, the insatiable appetites, the overwhelming chaos. Just the thought of the state of their carpets made me shudder. I envisioned a pristine home with beautiful rugs, and I was certain that would be my life.
Well, guess what? That’s me now.
I’m the proud mom of three lively, smart-aleck little boys, and you know what? I’m totally okay with it—most days. Taking all three out in public? That’s a whole different story. It’s a circus act, and you’ll rarely catch us out and about. It’s a bit of a disaster.
My boys are good kids, but together they create an unfair challenge. There’s my competitive 9-year-old, who’s a bit emotional and always wants to impress. Then there’s the 5-year-old, a jokester with a love for art and a knack for selective hearing. And let’s not forget the baby—chill, smiley, and utterly adorable. Seriously, I could just eat him up! (Oh, and no, I’m not trying for a girl, thanks for asking.)
When I was pregnant with my first child, I was convinced I was having a girl. I prayed for it. Girl, girl, girl! I wept when the ultrasound technician revealed a boy. Sure, he was healthy, but I had dreams of braiding hair and dressing up in cute outfits.
Little did I know, having a boy was just what I needed. I’m not the frilly type, and while I enjoy a cute dress and some nice shoes, I don’t think I could handle a daily princess routine. As a kid, I was more into being a cowboy, building with Legos, climbing trees, and playing sports. The traditional girly things? Not for me.
Now, my house is filled with three wonderful, quirky, creative boys who love adventure. We hike through the woods, catch snakes, and admire different mosses. On chilly winter nights, we host mini wrestling matches in the living room, affectionately dubbed “fight night,” where we shed our glasses and wallets and dive into the chaos. With the baby in the mix, things are still lively but a tad more mellow.
Of course, we indulge in classic boy activities—armpit farts? Check. Target practice with Nerf guns? Absolutely. There’s always a stray pair of underpants lying around. New jeans? Ripped at the knees before they even hit the playground. We lose snow pants, mittens, shoes, books, and Matchbox cars on a regular basis. Interests shift from Thomas the Tank Engine to Star Wars, from Pokémon to Minecraft. Zombies lurk around every corner, and conversations often veer into territory about their “junk.”
While we embrace all the stereotypical boy things, we also foster gentle moments, like learning to care for the baby, showing empathy when a brother gets hurt, and understanding that it’s completely okay to cry and share stories about our beloved old dog who passed away.
We’re not just a band of wild boys; we’re nurturing future good people. And while I’m sure families with girls share similar experiences, we’ve only watched Frozen once, and it didn’t exactly go over well. If you ask my boys if they want to build a snowman, they’ll opt to construct a wild snow alien that farts nukes instead.
So, the next time you spot us in the store, brace yourself for a scene—pleading for toys right after Christmas or melting down before dinner because those snacks from 15 minutes ago are now forgotten. Blink, and we’ll be in and out in a flash, but trust me, you’ll hear us long after we’ve vanished into the wild.
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In summary, being a mom to three rambunctious boys is chaotic, messy, and sometimes overwhelming, but it’s a journey filled with love, laughter, and unforgettable moments. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.