Robots, Road Trips and Changing the World: 10 Reasons Why I Love Being a Boy-Mom



To be a boy-mom, or a mother of only boys, is to have a close personal relationship with noise, dirt, laughter, and sticks of all shapes and sizes. 

Once upon a time, I thought I was really missing out by not having a daughter, but now that I’m 13 years into this boy-mom gig, I’m pretty certain that we moms of boys have it the best! Here’s my top 10 reasons why:

My closet. Mine.

Other than our two cats, I’m the only girl around here. My husband, God bless him, is teaching our two boys to respect me and my privacy, not just as their mother but as a woman. I get to shower alone, pee alone, and my closet gets left alone! I’m never going to find my favorite sweater missing, nor will my best boots go partying without me. My dudes have no interest in borrowing my mascara or my newest lipstick (unless it’s Halloween). The hollering at me through the door while I’m trying to pee and sword fights while I’m in the shower — we’re still working on that. 

Road trips.

Once upon a time, like all young moms, I had to navigate the public restroom with curious little boys in tow. Curious little boys who wanted to know what EVERYTHING was and wanted to touch EVERYTHING. Those days have now passed, now that they are older. These days, the best (and frankly, the most peaceful) part about road trips are the rest stops. I blissfully visit the ladies’ room ALONE while the three of them go have target practice. Five minutes of absolute solitude. A good thing. 


I love watching their relationship evolve. They are competitors, friends, enemies, co-conspirators, combatants — all in the same day. They are better, together, and they can tear the house apart, faster. It is yin and yang, these two. I love watching their loyalty toward one another unfold, and I can’t wait to see how their friendship grows as they become men. 

There will always be robots. And, dinosaurs. 

My Christmas tree is a loving compilation of generations. I have ornaments that were hand-made by my mother when she was a newlywed, and a collection I assembled while traveling in Europe. But it doesn’t stop there. It also has Yoda, and robots. Once, in our Nativity scene, we had a T-Rex. Anakin Skywalker has, on occasion, led our bedtime prayers, and I often discover pirates on my nightstand and Matchbox cars in my purse. 

Watching them sleep. 

They don’t sleep gracefully, these boys, gently falling under the spell of sleep as with a friend. They plummet — warriors on the battlefield, arms out-stretched, legs askew. As my friend and fellow boy-mom Tickled Red says, “It’s a symphony of elbows, knees and feet that never changes… no matter how old they become.”

My boy-mom gear.

I wear my Boymom t-shirts with pride and I never fail to be stopped by another mom when I’m out in public. It’s a badge of honor — being a mom of only boys is a venerable role, “because if you are one, then you know.”

Clothing them is less complicated.

Dressing boys is a simple business. Summer: shorts, t-shirt. Winter: jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt. Sneakers. Flip-flops. The end. There are no outfits to coordinate or accessories to buy. When I walk past the teen girl stores in the mall, I feel dizzy. I’m never going to have to argue about the length of their shorts or worry about buying their first bra. Thanks to baseball, we’ve already dealt with ‘The Cup’ and I survived.

Father-son shenanigans.

That time they convinced their dad (who didn’t need much convincing, because, BOY) to tow them on their skateboards behind his bike, or that time they all camped out in the backyard for a guys’ night, or that time their dad basically bowled them down the slip ‘n slide. The list is endless. Their dad is so great at saying “yes” to crazy stuff I would usually say “no” to, and the boys are better for it. 

They make me laugh.

Whether it’s farts, burps or crazy selfies, there is always hilarity in a boy-mom house. They are funny, these boys, and they find the world funny.

Boy-moms get to change the world. 

My husband and I are teaching them daily what it means to accept responsibility. We model how to apologize when you’re wrong, and that we earn what we need and want. We’ve shown them that boys can cry, and affection is for everyone. I get a chance to show them what feminism really means, and to place more value on who they are on the inside, not how they look on the outside. They can see how much their dad loves me, unconditionally, and treats me as an equal partner in our marriage. I will be sending them out into the world knowing what it means to be loved, but also knowing that everyone is held accountable for their actions, arming them with character traits like integrity and compassion. 

That’s two more superheros to add to our world population. In raising these two hooligans, I get a chance to change the world. 



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