#boylife

March 16, 2018

I was raised as an only child in a single parent home. Growing up with my mom was glorious! We lived in a split level home (that she bought - #girlpower) on a quiet street in a typical Southern town. Out of three bedrooms, my toys and I occupied two. My playroom was filled with Barbies, Barbie houses, and Barbie accessories. My bedroom was wall to wall Disney princesses. It was the perfect girl room. Shades of pink covered everything from my walls to my clothes. My mom's room was equally amazing. Her bed was adorned with fluffy, decorative pillows. Her dresser displayed a beautiful, wooden jewelry box and delicate picture frames. Our kitchen and bathroom had the towels you can use and the towels you're not supposed to use. The fridge was consistently stocked with Diet Coke. We even had a Little Debbie drawer - because cold Fudge Rounds are the bomb. Our haven of femininity was practically perfect in every way, and I couldn't wait to have a home of my own one day to mimic this perfection.

In 2005, I married my Prince Charming, and I was so excited to set up house. My plans were extensive and included an embarrassing amount of picture frames. We registered for beautiful towels and the cutest plate set. We painted the walls and picked out the most awesome wallpaper I had ever seen for the kitchen. Everything was going smoothly...until we actually moved in together.

Y'all...boys are gross. Like, really gross, and I had no idea. They leave stuff everywhere. They USE the towels you're not supposed to touch. They don't like to sleep under fluffy comforters and decorative throw pillows. They constantly question your sanity when you put all the chocolate in the fridge. My new, co-ed life was a shock! My plans weren't going well at all! For my own sanity, I immediately put away the breakable knick-knacks and fancy towels. There's only so many times you can find dirty finger smudges on a decorative towel before you lose your mind. "I'll use these another day," I would tell myself. Well, another day continually got postponed, and the majority of the girly things I had grown up with were either packed up or given away. Not because my husband made me (because believe me...that would be another story for another day), but because an apartment filled with game consoles and Star Wars books just didn't jive with Gone With the Wind posters and floral duvet covers.

After several years and two moves, we became pregnant with our first child, and I just knew it was going to be a girl. I quietly began planning a female rebellion. If this kid is a girl, we've got this. The husband will be outnumbered. We will have throw pillows! There will be wall to wall picture frames! We'll buy all the pink things! But at 16 weeks, the ultrasound tech sided with the other team and told us we were having a boy. While overjoyed at having a healthy baby boy, my dreams of restoring some femininity to the house were lost. Over the next four and half years (and with the addition of a second baby boy), our house became a toddler bachelor pad. My living room is filled with diecast cars, building blocks, trains, and plastic animals. My bathroom is covered in pee. Seriously, COVERED. My dining room table is adorned with Lightning McQueen place mats, and my all of my extra closet space is filled with tiny Polo shirts and novelty tees.

But you know what? I wouldn't change a thing. Sure, I see the bedding section at Target and yearn for pinker days, but my cheese puff-eating toddler sitting in the buggy screaming for more snacks always brings me around. Isn't it funny how we think we know what we want, but God knows better? We make frilly, pink plans and He laughs. He knew exactly what I needed and how to get me there. My boys - husband included - have changed me for the better. Our home may not be full of fancy pillows and towels, but it is full of equal parts love and happiness. One day, when my sweet boys leave the nest, I'll have my chance. I've watched enough Fixer Upper to think I'm the Joanna Gaines of the Southeast, and it also helps that all of my husband's things have already been pushed into one room because...toys. (Am I right? So. Many. Toys.) But for now, I'm happy as clam, and I'll take my home just as it is.