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Home > Blogs > Adventures in Motherhood > Archives > 2010 > April > 08 > Entry
Spring cleaning revives youthful joy
During our spring break last week, we managed to squeeze in some family cleaning time between the multiple sporting events planned by the boys.
And, in the process, we managed to unearth a glimpse of little kid past.
One of the tasks I asked my kids to do was to clean out their closet and to sort through the pile of more than 75 stuffed animals — or, as they refer to them, “buddies.”
My sons used to spend hours (especially the younger one) staging football and soccer games with their buddies, and would make sure their beds were adequately populated with furry friends to talk to or play with as they fell asleep.
But, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, it was time for a change. I hadn’t seen the boys, who are 9 and 10, play with or even joyfully squeeze these buddies for what seemed like years.
So, last week I asked the boys to make three piles: save, donate and throw away. When they were done, the boys called me back into the room and giggled as they showed me their work.
One was in the throw-away pile, five were to be saved, and the rest — the vast majority piled high in a colorful mass of ears, bellies and tails — were slated to be given away.
The boys giggled because they knew I would be surprised by the number sent packing and because they knew, just as I did, that this major exodus was a sure sign that they are getting older.
These days their attention has shifted from stuffed buddies to real ones — as it should be.
But although they were able to part with their inert old friends pretty easily, it was harder for me.
As I was packing the animals away, two caught my eye. I put them on my bed while I finished up packing.
The 10-year-old spotted the salvaged duo in my room.
“Why are Bob and Chuck still here?” he asked.
I smiled at the names I had forgotten, and shrugged at the fifth-grader.
But, where words failed me, they emerged in Bob.
“Why didn’t you keep me?! Aren’t I cute?” he demanded, much to the fifth-grader’s delight. “What’s wrong with me?!”
When my younger son wandered in, I grabbed Chuck.
“I … I just can’t believe it,” stammered the discarded bunny. “I kept looking at the other pile of stuffies thinking, ‘Why aren’t I in that pile?’ I’m just shocked.”
The boys kept laughing, so we hung out a while and let the buddies have their say.
At dinner that night, the third-grader asked me, “Why did you make them talk like that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But, even though it doesn’t make any sense, sometimes I think that stuffies have tiny little souls.”
The next morning, my younger son came into my room while I was reading the paper. He saw Bob and Chuck on the nightstand and asked if they were sleeping.
I didn’t know for sure if he was kidding, but said, “They’re probably tired from all that arguing yesterday,” and gave him a wink.
He said, “Well, they should be happy now because they are staying!”
“They are?” I asked.
“Yeah — we have to keep them now!”
Then, to my surprise, he brought in his few other buddies so they could all play together and he talked to them while I finished reading the paper.
It was like he got to go back a few years to a time when these little toys were much more than the sum of their soft, modest parts.
And I got to see my little boy again.
But, as with all glimpses, it didn’t last long.
Before I knew it, he had slipped out of the room and was back to his 9-year-old ways — playing video games.
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