This sponsored post celebrates the special father-son relationship and
is brought to you by my working relationship with Vocalpoint, P&G and Gillette.
All opinions are my own.
When I first meet other Moms of All Boys, I can't help but immediately feel a certain kind of kinship with them, something deep inside that makes me want to throw out a secret handshake or at the very least, a nod that speaks the unspeakable bond of "I get it. I know. I'm living in a house full of penises too." After all, there's certain things that only us Moms of All Boys understand and can relate to just like there's things about being a Mom of All Girls that I'll never, ever be able to empathize with.
For instance, it is impossible for little boys to keep their hands off each other. They're like friggin testosterone fueled magnets. Sit three boys on an 8-seat couch with equal distance between them and before you can blink once they're one on top of the other, tapping each other in the balls and pummeling each other in the face.
It's also near impossible for boys to keep their hands off of... themselves. Speaking of balls, the words "balls" and "penis" will never not be funny. In conjunction with their hands down their pants all of the time, it's no wonder the subject of balls and penises and butts and farts comes up so often.
Also, you cannot feed little boys without filler. Filler before meals, filler between meals and filler after meals. Boys are hungry all of the time and they will eat you out of house and home. Boys are the reason Costco exists and flourishes. Sourdough bread with peanut butter and quick mix-from-a-box cornbread are among the greatest, most useful fillers and because of the ferociousness with which my three boys stand in front of the pantry every hour of every day, I fear for the tween and teen years.
Okay, so maybe I don't understand all of those things exactly but after spending the last six years raising three boys of my own, I've certainly learned to embrace their strange male idiosyncrasies.
Finally, one more thing about raising boys that I may never understand but must embrace no matter how much it breaks my heart is that before long, they're going to have to begin separating themselves from me as they continue along the road to becoming Men. For this reason alone, I'm so grateful that I'm on this journey of raising men alongside my husband.
For all of the things I may not understand about raising boys, he's lived them. Not only is he able to help me understand our boys better but he's also able to step in for me and parent them in the moments that I have absolutely no idea what to do.
Take for example men's grooming rituals.
Taking a sharp, bladed object to one's face is foreign to me. While I can hook a brother up with the greatest, most moisturizing pre-shave leg lotion on the market and show them the best angles at which to achieve perfectly smooth and hairless gambs in no time, when it comes to shaving a face I'm more than clueless.
It's when I get to witness father/son moments like this that I can't help but feel like an outsider being invited to some super secret club mixer. When I do get the chance to be a part of these moments, even as the overeager cheerleader on the bench, it allows me a glimpse into my boys' futures- seeing them more as men and less like the little boys who just yesterday clung to my hip, refusing to leave my side.
Seeing my oldest perched up on the bathroom counter top, knobby knees and long legs dangling over the edge, watching my husband intently as he lathered his face and began to shave, stirred something in me. Something so grateful yet bittersweet. When my husband took a palm-ful of shave cream and lathered up my son's cheeks, it was as if my son was staring into a mirror of the future and not just his father's face.
I'm so glad my sons have someone to guide them and tell them manly things like "Gillette® Mach3® Signature Edition Razors are great for faces because they provide a shave that's up to 100% redness-free (it's possible with Mach3®)." I'm also glad these razors are available at Costco because lord knows we spend enough time (and money) there as it is.
Thankfully my husband's knowledge about "manly things" isn't limited to the proper care and grooming of man parts, but also includes other things I'm equally clueless about such as how to grill the perfect steak (or use the grill at all!), how to mow the lawn with those perfectly shaded crisscrossing lawn lines and eventually, how to select the perfect cigar and complimentary scotch.
Although I don't have a whole lot to offer in these kinds of moments, other than moral motherly support, I'm so grateful that I still get to witness them, that I'm still invited to the Testosterone Party. While I may never understand my three sons entirely and I may not be able to tell them which razor works better and why, I sure as heck have an equal hand in raising them to be kind, competent and respectful gentlemen who just happen to have faces that feel as sweet and as soft as a baby's bottom.
Truth be told? Men's razors are way better than women's razors anyway so I'm extra grateful to live in a household full of them. (Men, that is).