I fell asleep tonight holding a fever stricken little boy. I held him like I did the day he was born. We dreamed together like we did during those first few months. Me sitting in an oversized brown chair, him curled in my lap. Us cuddled under the warmth of his green blanket.

I’ve read countless articles on how to raise little boys. Each one holding a significant amount of power. Teach them to cook, to change a tire, to buy flowers, to hold doors.  All true, no doubt.  And yet I question.

The past week I have been working with my students on the classic “show me don’t tell me” rule of writing.  (Something that I know comes with editing – writer self still improving on this) we had a wonderful “A-ha” moment when a student I was working with chose to use conversation in place of drawn out narration. Then a simile to describe her the character’s excitement. Beautiful editing! Brilliant.

The teacher in me surfaced tonight as I consoled my baby. I pointed out to my Mommy Self that I was living the lesson.  What’s the key to raising young men? Show them how you cook. Let them observe as you change a tire, buy flowers, open doors for others. Let them watch and learn as you show them how to love.

Tonight, I fell asleep holding my big boy; showing him that Mama will always do her best to make the ouchie disappear.

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