There is a special tribe of us—moms who have only sons, no daughters. We are a group of women who survive our fate by slamming caffeine, gulping chardonnay, packing Neosporin and wearing running shoes, at all times. We spend an inordinate amount of time at the grocery store and in the Emergency Room.
We have a tight bond with the other moms-of-boys. We need friends who have also grown eyes in the back of their heads to hang out with. Moms of girls think we are just plain weird or that we have unruly, hyper children. We want to roll with women who don’t care that our biggest concern is preventing grievous bodily harm.
My friend, Lisa, Chief of the tribe, flew out last week with Nicholas and Matthew for a triple play date. We were missing our afternoons of fort building, Nerf gun wars & wrestling matches. We had a ball showing them Cornell campus (they ran the stairs and tackled each other endlessly on the football field), hiking (ponds teeming with turtles and frogs) and swimming (moms of boys can sit for hours poolside while the boys do everything but drown themselves right next to us)…
Some neighbors told me about other families with boys “just about” our sons’ ages here in Ithaca. They sort of gave me a knowing little smile when they saw my eyes light up. As soon as we are back from our trip that I am supposed to be packing for right now, we will look them up. Dear Lord: please let them be as cool and fun as the Hammels!
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