I found this in my files today. I don’t remember when I wrote it, but it must have been some time in the past couple of years. I added a few lines to pull it into the present.
It’s quiet where I sit today,
somewhere, the boys are at play.
Their dad is on duty, I can relax
I do admit I miss their whispers and giggles,
but not the mess on my floors,
or the muffled curse when I step on a toy.
But I’m raising boys, not floors.
E loves to kiss and hug
J just wants me to listen
It’s also “Mommy, this” and “Mommy, that”
Between the two, I can barely hear myself
At times it’s enough to put my head in my arms
To try and drown out the noise
Still, I’m raising boys, not my thoughts
Boys are for their mothers–
I know this for sure
With their dad they are tough and loud,
with me they are soft and cuddly,
and the newly made bed never stays smooth.
Coz I’m raising boys, not beds
My boys sneak up on me,
there’s a twinkle in J’s eye, a grin on E’s face.
Too late I realize why,
up in my face, a picture of the ugliest of all
a giant spider! Gasp!
I shriek and the book falls.
Immediately I feel arms wrap tightly around my neck,
and E smothers my face with kisses.
J puts his arm around my shoulder and grins
“I don’t know why you’re scared, Mommy. We’re your protectors.”
I kiss my knights,
who hold my very heart in their grubby hands.
And I’m raising boys, not fear
Dad’s hard at work to keep us growing
And I’m busy writing a masterpiece
But it’s too quiet around the house,
I yell out an oft-repeated phrase,
“Boys! What are you up to?”
The response, when it comes
is muffled and dim.
A sudden vision of suffocating faces
send me fleeing up the stairs.
I find them under the covers,
eyes wide and mouths set.
“The enemies are here,” they hiss,
“Take cover and help us plan our strategy.”
I hesitate then give in.
I crawl under to join them.
Yes, I’m raising boys, not books.