He Shall Build His House From Sticks

Little boy munchkin has this thing for sticks. Probably nothing special or unique. I’m sure kids of all shapes and sizes go through a stick phase. But today my patience for sticks wore completely out.

We were hiking with some friends, and he was happily selecting sticks along the way. First it was just a couple of “walking” sticks. He has seen his grandfather do this and the last time we hiked, I thought it was kind of cute. That’s the way it started today. There was a long stick in each hand. Occasionally the stick would become a Harry Potter wand, but mostly it was used for walking. Trouble was, he kept coming across more neat sticks. At one point, we rounded a bend and I realized he’d dropped far, far behind. When he caught up, he was juggling five or six good-sized sticks, plus a few smaller ones that apparently just looked neat.

I suggested that he’d picked up enough sticks and that we ought to focus on the hiking. He agreed, but a little further down the trail I realized he was lagging behind once again. His arms were so loaded with sticks that he could barely take a step without dropping one.

This time, I suggested that he select his two favorite sticks and the rest could be left behind. Of course, it was hot… and we’d walked quite a ways by then… and this was not a suggestion he was going to take easily. So I dropped the suggesting and told him this was just the way it was going to be.

It was very, very hard for him to choose. In fact, it was so hard that it tore my mean mommy heart out and made me feel like a horrible ogre. So, I offered to photograph his sticks, and any future cool sticks he might see, so that we could take them home and make a stick scrapbook.

Aren’t I clever?

It worked. Briefly. Though it pained his little, tired heart, he picked two sticks to carry on with. Occasionally he stopped me for a photograph of him with a particularly worthy stick. About the third time we stopped, I noticed the stick collection was growing again. We were taking pictures, but somehow all those sticks were also coming with us.

He just couldn’t make himself let them go.

So I did it for him. It was an awful scene, but by this time I was hot… and tired… and I was just getting really, really annoyed over all this drama about a few sticks.

I’m pretty sure a handful of sticks made it home with us. They are nestled safely in our trunk. As tough as I try to be, I’m still a sucker for a kid who loves sticks.