These are the icicles hanging off of my porch.
I bumped my head on them yesterday morning and then later that night I held Benjamin up so he could punch them all into oblivion; instead most of the flying icicle chunks landed with a loud slap into the side of my car. But I didn’t drop the four year old assailing them and let him finish saying over and over again, “Not into the car. Not into the car.”
When I ducked inside to start dinner, Benjamin stayed outside using a shovel three times his size to “destroy” all of the remaining icicles. Small or gigantic, he didn’t care; not much mercy in all of the testosterone coursing through his blood.
It’s an odd feeling raising a man.
Knowing what they are capable of doing, or not doing.
I watched Raising Cain, a documentary on raising boys when I was pregnant with Benjamin. The film shows interviews with boys who want to openly express their feelings, but are told to hide them; especially when the feelings involve violence or rage. I am going to rent it again and if you have a boy, do the same.