wisdomfromthesisterhood

The Sisterhood is a place to bring your cup of coffee to. Heck, bring the whole pot :). Sit down, relax, and fall in for a while. No divas or meanies allowed. It's about boy brain, kiddos, food, one crazy labrador, autism and a cat in recovery from a back tire incident. Oh the places you'll go :)

The Value of the Scars

on October 11, 2012

Giving my fifth grader a visual once over this morning, I noticed he looked more like a rag-a-muffin than a clean child.  More like a boy headed out to feed the horses or romp on the beach than go to school.  The beat up Vans and the ripped up jeans with the frayed bottoms screamed trash-bin-ready.  The boy is ALL boy and he is oh-so rough on clothing.  The black Vans look as though they were picked up out of a trash bin and yet I clearly remember standing in the Vans store back in September when he picked them out.  Back then those same shoes gleamed and smelled of ‘new’ but now the rubber is ripped and the side seam is coming loose.   And as I look at the jeans I have to remind myself that I have been fairly successful in enforcing the jeans rule in our home that says once the rip in the  knee reaches from seam to seam, it has to be given to the garbage.  I have weeded out six pair of seam-to-seam ripped jeans just this month and replaced them with sparkling new crisp pants that have no holes.   He even has five brand new pair of jeans in an array of his requested reds and blacks hanging in his closet that he refuses to wear.  Looking at my boy this morning it was clear…he has been keeping at least one worn out, ripped up pair of jeans in reserve.

So, being the mom I am, I tell him, “Buddy, I’m giving you fair warning that today is the last day that pair of pants will be making an appearance at school.  You can introduce them to the garbage when you come home.”

With a voice filled with exasperation, the tone of his voice clearly raises as he pleads, “But mom, you’re taking all my favorite pants.  These are good jeans.”

Trying to be logical, I say in my calm voice, “Buddy, look at the bottom of those jeans.  They’re frayed and the knee is ripped.”

And, as only a boy of ten can do, he says, “I know, Mom, that’s what makes them the best.  They have scars.”

 

 

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