I am not the mother of dragons, I am the mother of monkeys. Of Lost Boys. Of PonyBoys and Johnnys.
I am the mother of sons.
They are brothers. They are sweet. They are spacy. They are kind. They are kinda bratty. They sass. They scream. They sing. They rub my feet when I am sick.
They are as emotional and complex as anyone. The myth that boys don't feel is obliterated, or should be.
I worry about them, their self esteem, their friendships, their futures. We talk about games, and dreams, and school, it sounds like grunts and monosyllables, and little tiny windows of nonstop chatter. We talk about big stuff like death, dating, consent, the truth, being a bully, being bullied. This often looks like them acting out, and us finally getting to the point, hugging and yes, talking. With words. With eyes. With apologies.
Every day with my boys is a series of resets. Starting, messing up, fixing, starting again. Their ability to flow through this and simply let shit go has earned my proud respect, and I aspire to learn this from them.
This month we will be talking boys– raising them, loving them, hating them, understanding them, misunderstanding them. And we want to thank profusely the MOVEMBER FOUNDATION for being the heroes this month, not just in holding this conversation here on Mamalode, but in their worldwide work to raise funds and awareness to men and boys' health, including mental health. So support those Mos, and we hope you feel their support this month too.
Mom on, sisters. Sending you my love, as I go manage some brothers.