The Cat Stays in the Bag

A common theme of previous blog posts is my complex emotions about 11-year-old "Huckle" reaching the middle school years. 

A common theme of my non-posts (ie, reasons I don't post) is my complex emotions about writing publicly about Huckle. It's one thing to blab about your cute baby or preschooler; it's quite another to blab about a kid who will soon be developing his own internet presence.

But sometimes I need "blog therapy" to navigate the push and pull of wanting my guy to stay little and yet being so proud of the man he's becoming.

So let's just keep this post among ourselves, shall we? Keep the proverbial cat in the proverbial bag?

Earlier this month, Huckle had his first multi-night sleep-away experience: two nights on a church youth retreat two states away. He didn't seem too worried. In fact, he's a big fan of growing up and trying new, more grown-up things.

The day before the trip, I handed Huckle the packing list and told him to practice his grown-up-ness by gathering the necessary equipment into a duffle bag. Huckle managed to read the list and throw a few things in a pile. But he spent more time snickering over the word "toiletries" than actually packing. And then, when I asked him about a few essentials, it became clear that he took the list too literally:

Me: "Did you pack underwear?"   

Huckle: "What? Underwear wasn't on the list!" 

(Imagine the snickering, if 'underwear' had been on the list...).

When the departure time was an hour away and the dufflebag was only presumably somewhere under the haphazard-looking heap of "packed" items, I realized something: it's hard enough to let your kid go on a trip without you, when your kid is fully packed and ready to go. It would be even harder to let your kid go on a trip without you, if he left behind some important things (like the packed duffle bag) or if the packing wasn't completed until five minutes before the bus left, so you're all stressed out and yelling instead of saying fond farewells.

So I got involved...

Now, on family trips since Huckle was maybe six years old, he has made a point of bringing his favorite stuffed animal cat Tangles (pictured above in the little sleeping bag with attached pillow that Huckle made several years ago). Tangles has been to many states and even foreign countries. He has looked out the window of planes and over the edge of balconies. He's been lost in Chicago and the Omaha zoo (in fact, the current Tangles is actually Tangles 2. Or maybe Tangles 3). In other words, Tangles has been an important companion for many years and the subject of many family discussions ("What do you mean you can't find Tangles again?") and creative stories ("And then Tangles blasted off in his rocket..."). Tangles also owns a prime piece of real estate on Huckle's pillow.

Tangles in the arms of St. Francis;
Mexico 2011

 Cue the Mommy nostalgia, as I looked at Huckle's luggage pile and wondered -- not if he remembered toothpaste -- but if Tangles was somewhere deep in there. If Tangles didn't go, would this mean we had reached a new stage of grown-up-ness, a stage when stuffed cats are no longer essential travel companions, are no longer necessary to battle the forces of evil, and no longer offer some sort of magical protection in a dark bedroom or hotel room? I needed to know.

Me (casually): "So, is Tangles going?"
Huckle (shrugging but looking at me closely, as if my answer really mattered to him): "I dunno. Should he?"
Me: "Well, I think he should. He's been so many places already..."

Huckle didn't say more and neither did I. But, when he came back from the retreat, tired and happy, and I pulled the dirty clothes from the duffle bag, you can imagine my joy at seeing Tangles deep in the bowels of the duffle bag, complete with his little hand-stitched sleeping pouch.

There's plenty of time to grow up, dear Huckle, my precious son. Plenty of time.