Skip to content

No More Monkeys

Raising a boy.

Perpetual motion and a bottomless box of band aids.

Every stairway is a race course. Every mattress is a trampoline.

Your great grandmother’s antique crystal vase is always just a “go long” away from meeting a tube of super glue.

The refrigerator and the pantry are never more than third peanut butter sandwich away from empty.

He’s rough. He’s tough. He’s a bit unruly.

But, his heart.

His heart is as big as his wallet-draining appetite.

When he hugs you.

When he hugs you it feels as though his arms wrap around you twice.

The hugs are always huge, no matter how small the boy.

He loves you bigger than him+you+his entire Hot Wheel collection (even the one he traded for a goldfish).

How is it that this child,whose feet grow two sizes a week, can melt your heart even faster than he can untidy your house?

Sometimes as the inches pass, you find yourself wondering if there is a way to keep him home with you forever; keep his hugs all to yourself.

But mostly you just wonder if there is such a thing as a season pass to Urgent Care.

Love that monkey jumping on the bed.






2 replies »

%d bloggers like this: