Raising Ranch Boys

Our boys are ranch boys.  We might live in town, but these boys are totally little cattle guys.  I was once told by a physician that gender roles are defined by parents.  I can tell you with certainty that that is not the case, at least not at our house.  My boys have been known to have painted nails.  They have stuffed animals.  They have a shared kitchen, and they each have a baby doll.  It doesn’t matter.  Their stuffed animals end up getting roped and branded.  The kitchen rarely gets used unless I force them downstairs to fix me an imaginary meal.  The babies are sometimes played with, but generally they wrap the babies in blankies, put them to “bed”, and begin their branding of the family dog.

This adventure we are on is so much fun.  Every day John and I laugh our butts off at something the kids have said or done.  Over the past weekend, my sister watched the boys while I attended a conference.  My younger son wanted a “cowboy shirt” just like his brother and older cousin.  Thankfully, my sister had a spare button-down, plaid shirt for the little guy to wear. Before long my older son was removing his shirt because he wanted to be a “cool guy” like Papa Essie, his grandfather who is known to prance around the yard with a bare chest.

Every day is a total treasure and crazy adventure. I pray that these little guys grow up to be loving, wonderful young men. In the meantime, I’ll keep my laundry room stocked with Shout, and I better keep working on my jean-patching skills. 

God bless all of you moms; you rock!

The Displaced City Girl 

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