to the moon and back
So this past Wednesday I dropped my two kids off at school, skipped my one and only college class for the day and decided to bite the bullet and clean my son's room
[my bestest-smartie-pants-friend in California cleaned HER boys' play room the other day and it must have inspired me
although I will admit that I also needed a good excuse for hubby as to why I was going to miss class.... AGAIN]
background
J is 11, in 5th grade, and is your typical all-american
pre-pubescent sort of guy
he's got the biggest brown eyes and the cutest crooked smile and you can't help but like him the minute you meet him
he's also got a heart of gold; very sensitive and nurturing for his age; always looking out for and standing up for the underdogs in the world
So his room is full of the regular boy things: legos, GI Joes, books, plastic guns, skateboards, a cool kite, lots of Zip Zap stuff from Radio Shack, a remote control Hummer, an assortment of balls (soccer balls, baseballs, basketballs, hockey pucks, footballs that range in size and hardness, tennis balls to replace said baseballs when there are too many windows around) and finally, last but certainly not least, a TV with a PS2 permanently attached to its innards
those are the normal things
here are the abnormal things
at least 200 rubber bands in varying colors and sizes
empty plastic tic tac containers
empty altoid tins
masking tape
scotch tape
strapping tape
electrical tape
Q-tips
empty shoe boxes
empty cereal boxes
wooden sticks and beads
more rubber bands
empty plastic Crystal Light tubes with accompanying lids
small tree branches
string and rope
an old telephone
an old microscope
a set of old (HUGE) walkie-talkies that my dad gave him years ago
rocks of varying shapes and sizes
rolled up balls of tin foil
oh, and did I mention rubber bands?
so this is my reason for this blog:
welcome to the world of the all-american pre-pubescent 11-year old boy!
what a wonderful, wonderful world
full of
imagination
freedom
curiosity
naivety
innocence
youth
exploration
inspiration
vitality
testosterone
bravery
pretend
creation
fantasy
illusion
artistry
vision
I sat pensively in the middle of the room
an industrial size garbage sack in one hand
a brand new bottle of all-purpose clorox in the other hand
feeling like I was about to invade his little niche
who was I to disturb his peace; his imagination?
who was I to force myself into the crevices of his mind and disinfect his thoughts?
who was I to steal the illusion, the vision, the vitality?
who was I to decide what was garbage and what was creativity at it's best?
oh, THAT'S RIGHT, I am his mother
the one who goes crazy everytime I go into his bedroom because I am fearful of
things-not-yet-discovered underneath his bed and behind the toyboxes in his closet!
stay focused, mother, stay focused
I spent five hours in his room that day
putting legos in the lego box
putting Zip Zap batteries, remotes, wheels and such in the Zip Zap box
retrieving Crash Test Dummy parts from here and there
sorting through two HUGE Rubbermaid containers filled to the brim with:
poker chips
McDonalds toys
stale popcorn
squirt guns
toothpicks
little plastic green army men (some of whom were missing various limbs)
baseballs, footballs, soccerballs, tennis balls, etc.
rocks
exhausted GI Joes; gone AWAL (sorry guys, you have to go back now)
kitchen silverware
gum wrappers
my favorite scissors
taped up and rubberbanded Tony Hawk figures
Q-tips that had been cut in half, made into crutches and taped to
before mentioned little plastic green army men
(I am assuming to help them gimp back to camp without their various limbs)
[my guess is that little plastic green army men will get suggestions from
exhausted GI Joes on best way to go AWAL]
empty plastic tic-tac containers full of lifeless dirt and sugar
(I am hoping those are NOT dead ants....yup, they are)
empty altoid tins full of sand and grass
(I am hoping that was NOT a dead worm...yup, it was)
shoe boxes and cereal boxes made into the shape of futuristic rockets
to tote favorite stuffed monkey around the undiscovered dimensions of space
and of course rubber bands
I had the best time cleaning his room that day because I felt like a peeping tom, a voyeur
I smiled at his creativity
I laughed at every discovered 11-year old invention
I cringed every time I opened something, not knowing what I would find inside
I celebrated when I found the 28 missing socks that would match the
OTHER 28 singles I'd been saving and mumbling about for months now
I dusted carefully
I organized
I vacuumed
I replaced Glade plug-in
and then I left his room thanking God for such an honor
the honor of having been blessed with my son
the honor of having cleaned, organized and dusted
pure, raw, unadulterated IMAGINATION
ironically, J had a playdate afterschool on Wednesday and between
playdate friend and the other two neighborhood boys who seem
to live here most of the time
I cringed lightly at the obnoxious
farting, burping, bumping, gut-laughing
pre-pubescent sounds coming from behind closed door
I could only imagine what the newly cleaned room was going to look like
when the four of them finally emerged from there two hours later
but somehow it didn't matter to me
my only thought was
play
play on my son,
my brown-eyed boy
and may the imagination and fascination of innocence take you as far as you can go....
rubber bands and all
[my bestest-smartie-pants-friend in California cleaned HER boys' play room the other day and it must have inspired me
although I will admit that I also needed a good excuse for hubby as to why I was going to miss class.... AGAIN]
background
J is 11, in 5th grade, and is your typical all-american
pre-pubescent sort of guy
he's got the biggest brown eyes and the cutest crooked smile and you can't help but like him the minute you meet him
he's also got a heart of gold; very sensitive and nurturing for his age; always looking out for and standing up for the underdogs in the world
So his room is full of the regular boy things: legos, GI Joes, books, plastic guns, skateboards, a cool kite, lots of Zip Zap stuff from Radio Shack, a remote control Hummer, an assortment of balls (soccer balls, baseballs, basketballs, hockey pucks, footballs that range in size and hardness, tennis balls to replace said baseballs when there are too many windows around) and finally, last but certainly not least, a TV with a PS2 permanently attached to its innards
those are the normal things
here are the abnormal things
at least 200 rubber bands in varying colors and sizes
empty plastic tic tac containers
empty altoid tins
masking tape
scotch tape
strapping tape
electrical tape
Q-tips
empty shoe boxes
empty cereal boxes
wooden sticks and beads
more rubber bands
empty plastic Crystal Light tubes with accompanying lids
small tree branches
string and rope
an old telephone
an old microscope
a set of old (HUGE) walkie-talkies that my dad gave him years ago
rocks of varying shapes and sizes
rolled up balls of tin foil
oh, and did I mention rubber bands?
so this is my reason for this blog:
welcome to the world of the all-american pre-pubescent 11-year old boy!
what a wonderful, wonderful world
full of
imagination
freedom
curiosity
naivety
innocence
youth
exploration
inspiration
vitality
testosterone
bravery
pretend
creation
fantasy
illusion
artistry
vision
I sat pensively in the middle of the room
an industrial size garbage sack in one hand
a brand new bottle of all-purpose clorox in the other hand
feeling like I was about to invade his little niche
who was I to disturb his peace; his imagination?
who was I to force myself into the crevices of his mind and disinfect his thoughts?
who was I to steal the illusion, the vision, the vitality?
who was I to decide what was garbage and what was creativity at it's best?
oh, THAT'S RIGHT, I am his mother
the one who goes crazy everytime I go into his bedroom because I am fearful of
things-not-yet-discovered underneath his bed and behind the toyboxes in his closet!
stay focused, mother, stay focused
I spent five hours in his room that day
putting legos in the lego box
putting Zip Zap batteries, remotes, wheels and such in the Zip Zap box
retrieving Crash Test Dummy parts from here and there
sorting through two HUGE Rubbermaid containers filled to the brim with:
poker chips
McDonalds toys
stale popcorn
squirt guns
toothpicks
little plastic green army men (some of whom were missing various limbs)
baseballs, footballs, soccerballs, tennis balls, etc.
rocks
exhausted GI Joes; gone AWAL (sorry guys, you have to go back now)
kitchen silverware
gum wrappers
my favorite scissors
taped up and rubberbanded Tony Hawk figures
Q-tips that had been cut in half, made into crutches and taped to
before mentioned little plastic green army men
(I am assuming to help them gimp back to camp without their various limbs)
[my guess is that little plastic green army men will get suggestions from
exhausted GI Joes on best way to go AWAL]
empty plastic tic-tac containers full of lifeless dirt and sugar
(I am hoping those are NOT dead ants....yup, they are)
empty altoid tins full of sand and grass
(I am hoping that was NOT a dead worm...yup, it was)
shoe boxes and cereal boxes made into the shape of futuristic rockets
to tote favorite stuffed monkey around the undiscovered dimensions of space
and of course rubber bands
I had the best time cleaning his room that day because I felt like a peeping tom, a voyeur
I smiled at his creativity
I laughed at every discovered 11-year old invention
I cringed every time I opened something, not knowing what I would find inside
I celebrated when I found the 28 missing socks that would match the
OTHER 28 singles I'd been saving and mumbling about for months now
I dusted carefully
I organized
I vacuumed
I replaced Glade plug-in
and then I left his room thanking God for such an honor
the honor of having been blessed with my son
the honor of having cleaned, organized and dusted
pure, raw, unadulterated IMAGINATION
ironically, J had a playdate afterschool on Wednesday and between
playdate friend and the other two neighborhood boys who seem
to live here most of the time
I cringed lightly at the obnoxious
farting, burping, bumping, gut-laughing
pre-pubescent sounds coming from behind closed door
I could only imagine what the newly cleaned room was going to look like
when the four of them finally emerged from there two hours later
but somehow it didn't matter to me
my only thought was
play
play on my son,
my brown-eyed boy
and may the imagination and fascination of innocence take you as far as you can go....
rubber bands and all
posted by Peepshow at 10:02 AM
3 Comments:
You forgot to mention that when I cleaned the boys room I found a WHOLE package of Reese's p.b. cup wrappers in there, stowed behind the dresser, in the hopes I would never find said wrappers. Grumble grumble grumble.
hehehe. Good post. You talk about cleaning so lovingly, I was swearing the whole time I cleaned the boys room. You got one on me there, girlfriend! :)
I have three girls (ages 8, 10 & 12) but the mess is still the same as you son's. You're post really made me smile because as you described all the things your son created I remembered all the things my girls have created. Isn't it amazing? You have definitely given new meaning to cleaning up after pre-pubescent kids. From now on I will continue to grumble but I will also thank God for the opportunity to do it. Thanks for the insight and the wonderful post.
i know you are so glad for your son's imagination! every time i get mad that my daughter constantly stows away "trash" items to play pretend with, i remind myself that at least she DOES pretend. unlike those kids that do nothing but sit like lumps in front of the t.v. i am proud, as you are, that my child can play and imagine to her heart's content with only household goods. maybe they'll be famous designers or architects one day. or members of think tank. we can hope!
Post a Comment
<< Home