Thursday, July 01, 2010
Last weekend we took a little road trip to Williamsburg, Virginia.
One of the exciting parts was taking the ferry across the James River.
My kids had never been on a ferry.
If you haven't been to Williamsburg, its a living history extravaganza.
Volunteers are given a part to play and they very rarely came out of character. Their knowledge of the time period was amazing.
Speaking of history...
The kids and I went to see Toy Story 3 yesterday...and if you happened to have a pre-school/toddler boy-child when the first movies came out a decade ago...bring your tissues.
I'd been reading tweets and blogs that mom's across the nation were crying into their Milk Duds by the end of the film.
I took heed to the warning, but I kind of wondered why?
Well, as the plot goes the toys are owned and loved by Andy, but he is 17 now and headed to college.
The Toys have had their day.
The bloggers were right, I did get misty...
Why? Well, my son, The Boy, who will be thirteen years old in 89 days (not that I'm counting or anything) had that green dinosaur with the missing tooth, who always seemed to be on the floor and under my foot. He carried his hard-plastic Buzz Lightyear, with his retractable wings and noisy beeps and whistles, with him everywhere. For two years Buzz traveled with us to restaurants, church, the zoo.
To infinity and beyond, really.
Old Buzz was buckled into seat belts, and left on the counter of the bathroom while The Boy took a bath.
He was a big part of that little boys life.
As a result, he was a big part of mine.
That was eight or nine years ago. It feels like yesterday.
The movie reminded me of a special time in The Boy's life, when everything was about imagination and exploration and wonder...a time of chubby fingers and clumsy steps.
I loved that stage.
And I love this stage.
But they are very, very different. Both wonderful, not really comparable.
So why does the movie make this mama cry?
Because its family history...The Boy, Buzz Lightyear, and me...