Here's to you, Maurice!
I live where the wild things are. They tear their clothes off before bed and drop them on the floor. They leave tears and broken Lego creations in their wake. They smell like garden soil and peanut butter sandwiches. I love them. Thanks to Maurice Sendak, I am prepared to handle them, to embrace them and to be Queen of all Wild things.
I've read 'Where the Wild Things Are' so many times, I know most of it by heart. I've shared it with my boys, in hopes that they'll dream up their own adventures. That they'll create a world of their own to be King in, to be fearless and adventurous in. That's the best part of childhood isn't it? Imagination! I used to pretend that my bedroom was an apartment and I was a grown-up. When I opened my bedroom door, I didn't see a double bed and a desk. I saw a chic living room, a daybed and a kitchen. I knew the layout of my awesome bachelor apartment like the back of my hand. I'd pretend that I was sauteeing a fancy dinner over the grade 3 math problems sitting on my desk. It was a world where I was the boss, I reigned supreme. Didn't Maurice Sendak capture that spirit so perfectly?
I know the years of make-believe are numbered around here. Growing up robs us of our powers to make new worlds to jump in and out of. Sure, I daydream about winning the lottery, now and then, but it's not the same. While I was sitting on the front porch, writing this blog, Owen came running up to me to show me a rock. "Mom! This is a dinosaur volcano rock! I had to climb over a volcano to get it!! I'm putting it in my rock collection." Right there. That. His enthusiasm, his innocence, his pride. I love it.
I'd like to thank Maurice Sendak for letting my boys and I tag along with Max on his adventure with the wild things. I hope my kids will keep on creating their own fantasy worlds to escape to. Mostly I hope that they, like Max, will want to come home again to someone who loves them most of all (and a dinner that will still be hot).
I've read 'Where the Wild Things Are' so many times, I know most of it by heart. I've shared it with my boys, in hopes that they'll dream up their own adventures. That they'll create a world of their own to be King in, to be fearless and adventurous in. That's the best part of childhood isn't it? Imagination! I used to pretend that my bedroom was an apartment and I was a grown-up. When I opened my bedroom door, I didn't see a double bed and a desk. I saw a chic living room, a daybed and a kitchen. I knew the layout of my awesome bachelor apartment like the back of my hand. I'd pretend that I was sauteeing a fancy dinner over the grade 3 math problems sitting on my desk. It was a world where I was the boss, I reigned supreme. Didn't Maurice Sendak capture that spirit so perfectly?
I know the years of make-believe are numbered around here. Growing up robs us of our powers to make new worlds to jump in and out of. Sure, I daydream about winning the lottery, now and then, but it's not the same. While I was sitting on the front porch, writing this blog, Owen came running up to me to show me a rock. "Mom! This is a dinosaur volcano rock! I had to climb over a volcano to get it!! I'm putting it in my rock collection." Right there. That. His enthusiasm, his innocence, his pride. I love it.
I'd like to thank Maurice Sendak for letting my boys and I tag along with Max on his adventure with the wild things. I hope my kids will keep on creating their own fantasy worlds to escape to. Mostly I hope that they, like Max, will want to come home again to someone who loves them most of all (and a dinner that will still be hot).
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