While sleeping very peacefully one morning I was jerked out of my sleep by the most gut wrenching screaming you have ever heard! It scared me to death. I fumbled out of bed so fast that I nearly slammed my head into the dresser as I tripped over a shoe.
Running from my bedroom to the kitchen I now realize my 2 yr. old son was the one screaming. As I rounded the corner, all wild eyed and my hair standing on end I saw my small son crumpled on the floor. He was crying so hard his tiny face was purple and his body was shaking like a leaf on a tree during a terrible storm.
As I landed on the floor next to him, nearly falling on him because I was moving so fast, I start searching. I see no blood; no bruise nothing to indicate a wound or anything else that would indicate a reason for this screaming.
Calming down I pulled him into my lap and said “son what is wrong”?
The jumbles of attempted words coming out of his mouth were like trying to understand someone speaking a foreign language. So we sat there and we rocked. I kept telling him he needed to calm down so I could understand what was wrong.
Finally between waves of tears this beautiful blonde hair, blue eyed baby of mine finds the strength to talk. He points his tiny finger toward a kitchen chair and said “Matthew killed my Bo Bo monkey”.
I know I sat there for a moment thinking that I have certainly misunderstood this little darling. How could his brother have killed his stuffed toy?
Slowly I turned my head in the direction of the chair that was holding the beloved Bo Bo monkey.
I nearly choked to death when I saw the monkey laying there. Trying to hold in laughter and maintain some sense of being the adult in control was like trying to not breathe.
There lying on his back was Bo Bo, one arm hanging off of each side of the chair and both legs hanging off the other side. His lifeless little face covered in red blood. His mouth was full of blood. The blood was running down each cheek with the speed of frozen molasses.
Standing on the other side of the kitchen was Matthew looking at me like he had no clue what my problem was or why his little brother was crying so hard.
I grabbed the reins of my emotions and ask him what on earth was going on.
His first response of course was that he had done nothing. After an interrogation that would have put an FBI agent to shame I discovered that there had been a conversation as to whether the stuffed monkey could swallow catsup or not. Trying to solve this scientific question Matthew and our middle son Jonathan took BoBo to the kitchen and proceeded to test their theory to see who was right and who was wrong. Shawn walked in during this testing faze and assumed the red to be blood.
It took several hours to clean all the catsup off of BoBo’s face, to get the stains out of his yellow shirt. Finally he was returned to the land living stuffed animals. This task was made even harder because of having a small child glued to my leg the entire time.
Yes life with my three boys has always been entertaining. Days like this happened more often than not. I never did come into the world I dreamed of. Fame and fortune were not to be mine. There would never be thousands of adoring fans or more money than I knew what to do with. The fame I searched for came to me, not in the manner I dreamed of but in the hearts of my little boys. They could have cared less about movie stars and models. Their focus was on mom and that made me famous to them. Now when I sit back and think about the fame I once sought and the fame I ended up with I realize I was blessed by God to get the latter. That meant more to me than fancy clothes, money or my name in lights could ever mean.
This is a true story, no names have been changed. We still have BoBo Monkey. That is the only major incident he was involved in, I can’t say the same for the boys. He now rests comfortably in his old age and is quite content.
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