Spring is Coming

Monday is the first day of Spring.  Lately, I have been hearing a lot about letting go of what no longer serves you and to detoxifying while we change into new the season.  I’m not sure about all of that, but the kid’s rooms were bursting at the seams with junk and I could not take it another second.  I snapped and went into crazed mom cleaning mode.  I got the bags out and if it didn’t fit, wasn’t played with, or they were just over it, into the bags it went.  I had a solid 4 bags full when the unexpected happened and I started sobbing like a baby.

Now I will tell you I’m not a person who enjoys crying and will generally avoid it at all costs.  This is due to the fact when my parents took me to ET they told me I couldn’t cry.  This was because they didn’t want a hysterical 6-year-old at a movie theater, I forever thought to myself it isn’t okay to cry.  (Side note, I know it’s okay to cry, but I still avoid it).  I don’t like watching crying chick movies, I refuse to watch dog movies because we all know where this is going to end up.  I don’t like being sad.

Back to today.  As we were cleaning up, Xander had Puppy and Hobbes, his beloved stuffed animals, in his hands.  He handed them to me and said, “Mom, I’m just not going to use them anymore, we can get rid of them.”  I broke down.  He has literately had these since the day he was born and slept with them every night.  Now more and more I find them on the floor not being slept with but I figured they were still friends that felt good to have around.  I took them, and I put them in my closet.  He was ready to get rid of them, I wasn’t.  I felt like I had read that final comic in Calvin and Hobbes, or when Puff the Magic Dragon didn’t come around anymore. (Look when you don’t know the drug reference that is a devastating song)  His innocence was slipping away.

So, it happened, one day while I was spring cleaning, Xander got rid of what no longer served him anymore and my little boy was growing up faster than I had wanted.  Leave it to my kid to be able to leave me like a crying drunk real housewife over a stuffed toy.

Thank you, Puppy, and Hobbes for keeping my boy safe, giving him comfort when I couldn’t and letting him start to become fearless on his own accord.

He hates to smile for my photos as much as I hate to cry.  He's not sad.  He doesn't even care.

He hates to smile for my photos as much as I hate to cry.  He's not sad.  He doesn't even care.