When my partner announced that the kids could each choose a toy for our upcoming trip to the mountains, I immediately felt hesitant. I generally oppose adding more items to our already cluttered home, which inevitably leads to more cleaning for me.
While I blissfully roamed the hiking gear aisle, selecting some new outdoor apparel, I was blissfully unaware of the choices my partner was allowing our children to make. One child picked a plastic truck that performed stunts while blasting loud music, while another selected a toy featuring a dinosaur emerging from it—something I found utterly perplexing. Then came the selection made by my eldest son.
I stood in shock in the middle of the store, trying to figure out how to express my disapproval to my partner without the kids catching on. “I told you Mama said I couldn’t have arrows anymore,” my son, Leo, remarked.
“That’s because the last time we allowed you to have a projectile weapon, you accidentally shot your brother in the eye,” I retorted.
“It wasn’t in the eye,” Leo insisted, foam-tipped bow at his side. “It was just near it.”
“It left a bruise for days!” I shot back.
Meanwhile, my middle child sulked dramatically, clutching his toy truck, and the youngest was blissfully unaware as he rolled his toy into a display of bats, becoming momentarily stuck, while loud music blared from the toy.
“Well, he promised he wouldn’t aim it at anyone,” my partner defended, holding up a box labeled “inflatable boar.”
“Oh my—” I halted myself before I could finish the curse. “You’re actually buying him a bow and arrow set and an inflatable boar? How large is that thing? Three feet? You’ve definitely been influenced by living in the South for too long.”
“He’s 7,” my partner replied, as if that justified everything.
I quickly learned that some decisions were beyond my influence. The kids excitedly brought the bow and arrows, along with the inflatable boar, to the mountains. As soon as they arrived, they eagerly set up the target and began shooting arrows at the boar, which I felt was an unnecessary provocation.
During our stay at the cabin, the children couldn’t wait to play outdoors. Only Leo was allowed to shoot the bow and arrow, as he was the oldest. He aimed at the boar, not out of any hunting strategy, but simply for target practice.
The boar was undeniably a boar, complete with inflatable tusks and a distinct shape that I found rather inappropriate. I had always believed in more modest inflatable toys.
Leo adored his bow and arrows, as well as his inflatable target. Engaging with it was a serious endeavor; he didn’t attempt to ride it or hit it with sticks. His father was excluded from the play, as was I. If we had asked, he would have welcomed us, but he was content with this solo activity.
I fondly remembered when he would interrupt my writing, bringing books and toys to my desk. Those days are behind us. Now, he occupies himself with his own stories, Lego creations, and the occasional TV show that leaves me scratching my head. But here he was, shooting arrows and pretending sticks were guns.
It was evident he was growing up. I didn’t expect him to choose the truck blaring music, but rather something more age-appropriate than a bow and arrow and an inflatable boar. He’s hiked up mountains and is preparing for his First Communion, even sporting a custom-tailored suit. Yet, the boar symbolized his transition from baby to boy.
He giggles with delight as he pokes the boar, shoots arrows, and engages in light-hearted sibling banter. He’s no longer a toddler; he’s a young boy with long hair, a keen imagination, and a penchant for adventure.
As entertaining as the boar hunting is, I must admit, I prefer it over the noisy truck. I miss the days of my baby, yet I find joy in this boar-hunting phase. Especially when he wraps his arm around me and says, “I love you, Mama.” Moments like that make it all worthwhile.
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Summary
The narrative explores the dynamics of parenting and the bittersweet nature of watching children grow. It reflects on the choice of gifts that mark a transition in childhood, particularly through the lens of a bow-and-arrow set and an inflatable boar. The author shares personal anecdotes, capturing the essence of motherhood and the joy of witnessing a child’s growth.