This tale revolves around a boy and his evolving sanctuary. Nine years ago, on our first night in this house, he lay sleeping amidst towering boxes. Before drifting off, I read him a few pages from his cherished book, The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales. I had packed it along with his teddy bear and a newly purchased checkered comforter, labeling the box “Open First.”
After the story, I lay beside him, the lights aglow. He wasn’t quite ready to turn them off, nor for me to leave. So, I pressed the concealed button on his teddy bear’s heart, activating a 30-second clip of my voice singing “Help.” It became his lullaby during those sleepless infant nights when I hardly remembered any other song.
As I watched him grow drowsy, I marveled at his golden lashes and perfect skin. He was at that delightful juncture between childlike wonder and adolescent rebellion—the Time of Bliss. I wanted to freeze that moment. What a boy he was, my enchanting 9-year-old! His laughter made me giggle, and his tears tugged at my heartstrings. If he were selling rocks door-to-door, I’d buy them all just to see that sweet face.
We sang together, and he repeatedly pressed the button until he succumbed to dreams while I got to work. I was determined to unpack all the boxes in his room so that when he awoke, he’d find a transformed space. The previous six months leading up to our 1400-mile move had been tough. His father had moved ahead for work while we wrapped up the school year. That winter was harsh, with ice storms and emotional farewells to friends and familiar places. I wanted to return some of the joy he brought me just by being himself. I aimed to create a room he would love, just like his old one where he created characters from stories and built magnificent Lego structures.
Fortunately, he was a deep sleeper. I hung clothes in the closet, capes and hats on pegs, arranged pictures on walls, and shelved books. His toys filled a bright red wagon, while I showcased Lego masterpieces and tucked trading cards into a shoebox under his bed. I laid down a moon-and-stars rug and hung a cheerful yellow Styrofoam sun over his bed.
By 4 a.m., I had completed my mission, even flattening boxes and transporting them to our cluttered garage. Before I crawled into bed, I set an alarm for 8 a.m. I was eager to witness his reaction when he woke up.
At 7 a.m., he stood by my bedside. “Mom,” he said, gently nudging my arm. “Mom, wake up, please.”
I propped myself up. “Why are you awake so early?”
“Something happened while I was sleeping,” he replied.
“What was it?”
“My room is nice now! The boxes are gone,” he exclaimed. “You have to come see!”
Fast forward to last week; I found myself packing that very room after dropping him off at college for his freshman year. Some items would be tossed, others donated, and a few preserved for nostalgia. His Legos and trading cards remained, but much of the rest had been replaced or stored away over the years. A few drawings and photos still clung to the walls, while his beloved Beatles posters made their way to his dorm. The closet was mostly bare, holding only a few keepsakes wrapped in plastic—the judo uniform that belonged to his dad, a wool blazer gifted by my mother, and the tiny faux leather jacket he wore when he played Elvis.
I vacuumed the curtains, bedding, and even the remnants of dried toothpaste on the floor. I dusted the sun with the smiling face. The bear’s button had lost its charm, but I sat on his bed and sang the lullaby one last time.
“Help me if you can, I’m feeling down,
And I do appreciate you being ’round.
Help me get my feet back on the ground.
Won’t you, please, please help me?
Help me, help me, ooh.”
This article was originally published on November 6, 2014. If you’re interested in more parenting stories, feel free to check out our other blog posts, including the terms of service found here.
In summary, this poignant narrative captures the bittersweet moments of childhood, from the joy of creating a beloved space to the sadness of packing it up for new adventures. It reminds us of the fleeting nature of time and the importance of cherishing every moment.