As most people know, I am the mother to three boys. I know I bitch and whine about not having a girl all the time, (Mainly because I WANT TO OUTFIT A GIRL IN TUTU’S EVERY DAY, or if not every day, MOST days. I heart tutus. Sigh.).
So, yes. I would love to have a little girl
I LOVE having boys. LOVE IT. Every mom should have their little boys bring them a bouquet of dandelions from the yard and hear, “Momma? Can I marry you when I grow up?” (Keep in mind, this is around 4 years of age. I’m not talking Oedipus Rex here. That’s icky.)
Boys are so unique and special, yet they all seem to be the same in so many ways. I was straightening my boys room this morning and came across a lot of their “Little Things”, as I am wont to call them. First things first, though. Every mother should have the giggling joy of discovering things like this in their kid’s notebooks. This is one of many, many, many “Expressive” creations from James.
If you are having trouble reading this, it says, “The Girls Take Over! NO!” And in the little comic balloons: “I shall avenge you!” “AAAAHHHH!” and “Yuck! Gasp! Death first!”
Back to the room and their things.
One of my favorite stories of all time is a Christmas story called, “The Littlest Angel” by Charles Tazewell. It was written in the 1950′s. There are a lot of different versions of this story but this is the book I grew up reading.If you would like to read the whole story, I found the text published online if you want to read it.
It always struck a chord in me and continues to do so to this day, just for different reasons. It’s hard to feel like an out-of-place misfit. When I was little, I always thought that the Littlest Angel was like ME: Disorganized, loud, and perpetually with a crooked halo. He talks to the “Understanding Angel” about how hard it is to be a “Misfit” in the kingdom of heaven. (I have my own “Understanding angels” that I talk to about feelings like this all the time. They’re awesome to have around and applaud me when I manage to get in the shower before 5 pm. Everyone should have them.)
At the end of the story it is the time of Jesus’s birth and all the angels are getting together grand gifts for him. The littlest angel goes back to earth and gets his “Box” to give to the baby Jesus. It is full of his most valued treasures:
“Well, there was a butterfly with golden wings, captured one bright summer day on the high hills above Jerusalem, and a sky-blue egg from a bird’s nest in the olive tree that stood to shade his mother’s kitchen door. Yes, and two white stones, found on a muddy river bank, where he and his friends had played like small brown beavers, and, at the bottom of the box, a limp, tooth-marked leather strap, once worn as a collar by his mongrel dog, who had died as he had lived, in absolute love and infinite devotion.”
He pretty much had a box just like Christophee’s:(Click to see the notes from Flickr)
In the end, the angel’s small box (That he was ashamed to have given because compared to the other glittering gifts was plain and ugly) was chosen by God because it was the most precious and he turns it into the star of Bethlehem.
As I’ve gotten older and had children of my own I have had quite a bit of tragedy and joy as a mom. I realized when I re-read this that somewhere along the line, I stopped looking at this from a rejected child’s point of view and now I view it as a mother. A mother of boys. It squeezes my heart and reminds me of my own little ones. Didn’t every boy have a box like this? I hope so. I hope even more that every boy has a mom that loves that box of bits as much as they.
I know I do.