A few weeks ago I let Calvin stay at home alone for ten minutes. He was burned out from a doctor's appointment in the big city and we still had to go to Nana's house to pick up the Littlers. He started whining that he just wanted to go home, so I tossed out one of my well-played "options".
"You don't want to drive six more minutes to Nana's house? Okay. Do you just want to stay home alone?" Because of course he wouldn't want to stay home alone. He'd be terrified!
So I clearly wasn't expecting him to get all saucer-eyed and smiley at the prospect.
I'll admit it, I had a strange amount of freedom at a pretty young age. The freedoms, they make little sense, in hindsight. For example: I was not allowed to watch Smurfs. I was allowed to walk to a movie theater to see Star Wars with my brother when I was in the 2nd grade. I was not allowed to go to dances in Junior High. I was allowed to fly to Belgium for a month with one adult and three other kids when I was 11.
All of that to say, I have nothing but admiration and a tiny hint of perplexity for the way I was parented. And yes, times have changed, blah blah blah. I try to find the balance. But I really like encouraging independence.
So - I let the boy stay. I knew Cory was on his way home from work. He'd be there in about ten minutes. At the very last moment, I remembered that we don't have a land line and handed Calvin my cell. (I'm practically the poster Mom for safety and responsibility!) I told him, "If you need anything, push this green button and you'll call Daddy."
I swear he looked a little power-drunk as he walked alone through the back door.
Later, after we were all reunited and every small person was counted and logged, Cory told me that Calvin had called him on his way home from work. Just to chat. Cory's signal dropped and Calvin called him right back, but it went straight to voice mail. In Cory's words, "I almost cried listening to his message."
I can't even tell you how many times we've listened since then.
And I get it - you probably aren't interested in hearing a random voice mail from a random kid that you don't know. But last week I stumbled on this post. I had forgotten all about Bolly Bobo. I wouldn't have thought it possible at the time, but were it not for that old post, the memory would be buried under a pile of laundry and dirt and salsa. I was reminded all over again why I really blog. It's to remember.
But seriously? My boy's voice is the cutest thing this side of the Mississippi, so you should probably have a listen.