(I’m linking up with the Stirrup Queens today for #MicroblogMondays. Head over there if you’d like to read more #MicroblogMonday posts!)
I have heard many stories from my mother-in-law about my husband as a little one. Apparently, he really gave her a run for her money, employing all sorts of tactics such as holding his breath until he turned blue, climbing on top of the refrigerator to get to the medicine bottles, and refusing to eat anything at all for long periods of time.
After we had been married for a year or so, she gave me an old plastic spoon shaped like an airplane, the only utensil that had successfully convinced her stubborn baby boy to actually take a bite of food. She had held on to the spoon for all those years and gave it to me so that we could someday use it with our own babies.
I took the spoon home and placed it in the back of our silverware drawer, thinking it was cute and that we would eventually pull it out and use it. The thing was though, as time went on, that little blue airplane started to look sadder and sadder, until I hated seeing it sitting there, unneeded and unused, each time I reached for a fork or a butter knife.
That old spoon is now buried deep inside a storage drawer, hiding out in a safe place until an unknown time in the future. I suppose we’ll take it with us wherever we move, and someday, maybe, we’ll have a use for it.