Glimpses of My Boy, vol. 1

© shoutingforha

After dropping my boy off at school this morning, I began my ritualistic tidy-up as I walked through the house. I do it every morning without fail. Being a compulsively neat person by nature, I tend to like things to be in order before I start my day.

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This ritual always begins by me walking room-to-room, grabbing randomly discarded items, and piling them into my arms so that they can be returned to their rightful homes. The grand finale is when I pull out the old Dyson so that I can vacuum up the nine tons of dog hair that Brick shed during the night.

© shoutingforha

I had quite an armload to return to the boy's room today. It consisted of seven socks that were left in the den due to their apparent lack comfort, a pair of flip flops I found wedged underneath the sofa, an Old Navy sweatshirt that was hung on a doorknob when the boy realized that he was warm enough without it, and three Bakugan that had rolled under the dining room table.

© shoutingforha

As I took my bounty into his room, I let out a little moan. To my dismay, the place was a disaster. Every drawer in his dresser was open with clothes spilling onto the floor, toys littered the floor, and his bed was in shambles.

© shoutingforha

My first thought was that the boy was going to have some serious cleaning to do when he got home from school. Then I remembered that he has a huge African grasslands project that is requiring a great deal of work. There are reports on animals to write and dioramas to make. He also needs time to unwind and just be a kid.

© shoutingforha

I decided to give my boy a gift. The gift of a room cleaned by his Mom. I did the only logical thing and started sorting through the mess.

© shoutingforha

As I worked, something happened. The morning sunlight was streaming in the windows, filling the room with a warm glow. Instead of seeing the Nerf darts stuck to every surface, I noticed my boy's bed, disheveled from a good night's sleep, piled with the four fleece blankets that he buries himself under each night.

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Rather than getting upset about the six shirts left discarded on his closet floor, I saw the bulletin boards covered with posters, concert tickets, ammo for his Cap Bomb, and various keepsakes.

I saw my boy, not his mess.

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The obnoxiously orange wall... the tin buckets piled high with Star Wars action figures, matchbox cars and vintage Fisher Price Adventure People... the planets hanging from his ceiling... his shelves piled high with books... his dresser drawer filled with t-shirts adorned with drumming logos and Colorado sports teams... his windowsills filled with geodes and rocks...

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The room is so distinctly HIS. One glance speaks volumes about my boy. His personality, his interests, and his passions can all be found by spending a few minutes in his room.

© shoutingforha

This morning was a gift. My hope is that I will be able to see the things that are truly important each an every day.

How about you? What things are speaking to you today?