The House-Park-Rock
Liam is quite the rock afficionado. He has a small coffee can, thoughtfully donated by Gran-Gran, that houses his collection of pebbles. He picks up these rocks on our frequent visits to local parks, and woe befall the adult who manages to lose one of his treasures before arriving home.
His favorite rock is about the diameter of a half dollar, and maybe a centimeter thick. It looks like sandstone to my uneducated eye, and he dubbed it The House-Park-Rock because he found it in a playhouse in the park. Very literal, my son.
Yesterday, tragedy struck. The House-Park-Rock broke in half as he dropped it into the can. He burst into tears, picked up the two pieces, and cried, "Come, Mommy. House-Park-Rock broke. No two House-Park-Rocks. No-no-no. Broke. Broke. Broooooke. Come, Mommy. Come." (I was sitting beside hime the whole time.) If there's anything that makes my heart break, it's tears on my son's face, especially when accompanied by chin quivering.
I am pleased to report that after several late-night glue trials, along with prayers to the gods of adhesive chemistry, House-Park-Rock has been restored to his former splendor. (Did I mention House-Park-Rock is male? No. Well, now you know.) Liam is beaming - "ONE House-Park-Rock now! Only One! Fixed! Fixed!"
What's keeping me up at night now is that in a few years, Liam will experience problems that I won't be able to fix with space-age epoxies. Will someone please tell me how to keep him little? Forever?
His favorite rock is about the diameter of a half dollar, and maybe a centimeter thick. It looks like sandstone to my uneducated eye, and he dubbed it The House-Park-Rock because he found it in a playhouse in the park. Very literal, my son.
Yesterday, tragedy struck. The House-Park-Rock broke in half as he dropped it into the can. He burst into tears, picked up the two pieces, and cried, "Come, Mommy. House-Park-Rock broke. No two House-Park-Rocks. No-no-no. Broke. Broke. Broooooke. Come, Mommy. Come." (I was sitting beside hime the whole time.) If there's anything that makes my heart break, it's tears on my son's face, especially when accompanied by chin quivering.
I am pleased to report that after several late-night glue trials, along with prayers to the gods of adhesive chemistry, House-Park-Rock has been restored to his former splendor. (Did I mention House-Park-Rock is male? No. Well, now you know.) Liam is beaming - "ONE House-Park-Rock now! Only One! Fixed! Fixed!"
What's keeping me up at night now is that in a few years, Liam will experience problems that I won't be able to fix with space-age epoxies. Will someone please tell me how to keep him little? Forever?
posted by Liesl at
9:49 PM
4 Comments:
I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop in. I like the sweetness and gentleness in your stories, and it reminds me of my own sons, now grown. I'll stop in again, if you don't mind.
By
Pat, at Friday, November 04, 2005 10:24:00 PM
I was wandering through the neighborhood and came across your blog. I like the sweetness and gentleness of your stories, and it reminds me of when my own sons were small. I'll stop in again.
By
Pat, at Friday, November 04, 2005 10:25:00 PM
Nice blog. I like your gentleness and tenderness. It reminds me of my own sons, now grown. I'll be back.
By
Pat, at Friday, November 04, 2005 10:26:00 PM
Sorry. the comment window was acting goofy. I don't usually stutter at the keyboard.
By
Pat, at Friday, November 04, 2005 10:28:00 PM
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