"Young boys should never be sent to bed…
they always wake up a day older."
~ J.M. Barrie, "Finding Neverland"
As a mom of two teenagers and a tween, I am extremely thankful when I see evidences my youngest is still more "boy" than "man". Take yesterday, for example.
After realizing my daughter had nothing little to wear, we spent the day shopping before and after her final exam. Seven hours. Because a) my "likes-to-shop" gene died years ago, b) my middle son's after-school plans were canceled so he had to join us, and c) it also involved bathing suit shopping for me, this was "work".
By the time we got home, I was absolutely stick-a-fork-in-me-I'm done. Perpetual laundry and cooking dinner were staring me down, but before getting started on either, I started rifling through our purchases to evaluate what we ended up with (at some point in the day, I had hit the "dazed and confused" wall of shopping, and for all I knew, my kids could've snuck in 10 pounds of Oreos. Not that there's anything wrong with that.).
Oblivious to my heightened state of exasperation (stemming from, in part, my discovery of imminent returns), in walks Stephen, chattering away in his typical cheerful manner. Because I was distracted, I was only half listening. The little boy in him still likes playing with stuffed animals, and though his older siblings chide him about it, he doesn't care; he continues to name them and weave stories about them and be entertained by them. His colorful imagination is enviable.
I'm acutely and painfully aware these days are numbered. I cherish this about my son. Five minutes ago I had three children who couldn't bathe, dress, tie shoes or wipe themselves, and now I'm down to one who, joyfully and uninhibited, plays with imaginary friends. I refuse to rush this fleeting season to the next; the tell-tale pounding of time marching forward taunts more loudly each day.
And yet, I believe it's important not to demand that he remain a little boy forever.
The tension of motherhood: letting go versus holding on for dear life. Cultivating respectful independence without creating unhealthy dependence.
Not a job for cowards!
Anyways…………
He walks in with the bunnies he's referred to as Felicia and Jedediah–prizes a friend of his "won" plunking coins into an automated crane game at the mall. He's talked **a lot** about these rabbits; that day he came home with a pair of frogs, but he talked more about the pair of bunnies his friend had. In a trade, Josh had given them to Stephen yesterday, and Stephen brought them in to show me.
I barely looked up until in the midst of his loquacious monologue I heard, "…and this is where I neutered them…"!
That he a) seemed to use that term with full knowledge and ease, and b) that the mall gives anatomically correct stuffed animals immediately got my attention! As I inspected his new pride and joy, I was confused then relieved to find–
- Felicia and Jedediah look like little doggies to me; when I questioned Stephen, he responded with, "Look at those ears–do dogs have ears like that?!" And I'm thinkin' ummmm, yeah, and then I questioned him further about the tail. "Well, Pepper has a little nub…" and then I realized that he just loves rabbits **so much** that that's what he sees.
- He used the term "neuter" to mean he clipped their tags, not any gender-identifying (and plain wrong on a stuffed animal!) body parts.
Bless his heart…!
S i g h…so here I sit, cross-legged in the center of a teeter-totter. To my left, never wanting to send him to bed again so he can never grow older; to my right, knowing that sleep is inevitable.
well told, friend…makes perfect sense to me and i don’t have kids 🙂
Girl, I just love the way you write! (And, I too, hate that our little boys have to grow up.)
When I was in the sixth grade, I was fascinated by seals. I’m not sure what triggered this particular fascination – it’s not like there are a lot of seals roaming wild in the cornfields of Illinois. But whatever the reason, I became such a fan that I sought out all the stuffed seals or sea lions I could find. And when I couldn’t find but one, I grabbed some grey and black felt and a pair of my mom’s best scissors and fired up my imagination to cut, sew and stuff a few of my own.
I can only recall one of the creature’s names, “Stomache,” which I was clear to let others know was pronounced “Stow-MAH-chee.” Yeah. Well, I’d overstuffed him so he was kind of chubby. And about that pronunciation? It’s because I suspected he was of Italian descent.
I kept my love of stuffed animals long past the “Fresh until” date stamped on them by our culture’s insistence to grow up too fast. And although it wasn’t much later that I realized I could no longer talk about my ball-balancing, flipper-clapping imaginary friends when I was around my real life friends, Stomache and his pals remained in my room for at least another year or two, offering rare comfort in the shrinking space between childhood and adulthood.
All that to say, “Cheers to you, Stephen, for enjoying the company of Bunnies That Matter.” And also, “Cheers to you, Robin, for letting Stephen feed his imagination…and those bunnies of his.”
I loved it when my son was in that stage…I knew then that I should cherish all the ‘little boy’ moments because you never know which one will be the last. For me, it was him sitting on my lap one Christmas Day, when clearly he was WAY too large to be doing that. I loved it, though, and am so glad I stored that memory away.
Oh, Robin, this is priceless–I laughed out loud. Makes me wish I had a little boy. Sort of.
So sweet. I still see signs of “boy” in my seventeen year old and I tuck them away in my heart because I know that the day is closer than ever when he won’t be bounding into a room, chanting “mom, mom, mom” a bazillion times to tell me something ridiculous. Enjoy!(by the way, he still has a few stuffed animals on top of his bookcase, hidden from most eyes but we know they are there!)
my 9 yr old son still sleeps with his stuffed animals. i know one day it’s going to seem he’s growing faster than i want him to. for now i’ll enjoy it.
Really lovely, Robin. I too have one on that teeter-totter. He’ll be double digits soon! I’m often reminded.
Summed up perfectly, Robin. Every summer, I swear I can see my boys grow in front of my eyes. It makes my soul weep. I’m so proud they’re growing up to be wonderful young boys(MEN), but long gone are the days of nightly snuggles and singing them to sleep. But the stuffed animals are still on the bed! Whoo-hoo!
Thanks, John :). Good to know I don’t sound crazy after all ;).
Cathy, you always, ALWAYS give me reason to keep writing. Thank you.
Lately, it hasn’t been easy (not used to that!).