Older siblings are a blessing. They are the walking history books filled with formative stories that you’ve forgotten about, or didn’t even make a point to remember.
I was talking to my sister over text yesterday. We were discussing child-rearing. We were comparing our childhood to that of our respective children. She reminded me that our kids were fine. She told me that at least we weren’t picking out roach babies from our cereal boxes anymore.
That was my response. I have ZERO recollection of picking out roach babies from our cereal boxes. Instantly, I am traumatized. My sister then told me that it was probably better that I’d forgotten about it.
I won’t get into it all, because I’m sure that on some level, you all have a story that compares. But in brief, here it is: my mom was a single mom without much money. We moved into some crappy places. We made it out okay.
Now here’s where I get into the part of the title that has a book in it.
The book is about boys, and how “they don’t make them like they used to.” It is a pretty heavy read. I don’t recommend it for nighttime reading – especially if you have boys. I’m about three chapters in, and let me tell you, the gears are turning. My boy needs to play more. My boy needs less computers. My boy needs to do more hands-on things.
Every morning – at 5:30 a.m. – my son gets up. I’m an early bird too, as is my husband, so it doesn’t bother me overly much. I get up, get him his cereal, water, and his Allegra.
Not this morning. He got his own breakfast. It is time. Today will also be the day that we put our electronics in the guest bedroom. We will get out of the house, get into the yard, get into the car and will do things.
I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep this “doing” thing up. But I have to try to do it long enough to where it takes seed in my son’s head. Maybe in mine, too.