Love May Be a Battlefield, but So Is a 7 Year Old Bug's Bedroom

So, the Bugs are currently holed up in the Florida Panhandle, riding dirt bikes and playing XBox, showering only when threatened, fighting with each other about cleaning their cousins' room where they've been camping out in, drinking way too much soda and generally enjoying their summer.  Without me for two weeks.  Boo.

I had a lovely thought of sending a little care package with all of their favorite things:  beef jerky, candy, a new DS game, candy, a note from Awesome and candy.  But, I didn't.  Then I had a lovelier thought that I would perhaps rearrange their room and buy a few new things (beanbag chairs! new bedspread! bookshelf!) because what 7 and 10 year old Bugs wouldn't love a bedroom makeover, right?!  And I did.

So, in order to make room for the above mentioned new stuff and be able to unveil the bright, shiny, new homes to bookshelves with bright green crates and funky saucer chairs (beanbags only available in pink and purple), it required some cleaning.  Or rather, some CLEANING.  I thought I was ready.  I mean, hi, I've cleaned before and do so quite regularly.  But who-wee (sp?)!  I thought I have Bugs, but I must have misclassified them.  I have Pack Rats!

The Bigger Bug's room was not so bad.  Random papers from school and sticky notes, a few "prizes" from the treasure box at school (Allow me to translate:  prizes= McDonald's toys, a valentine's trinket, a mini Hawaii snow glitter globe, a magic 8 ball, you know basically crap, I mean highly regarded items), broken Silly Bands and some other odds and ends.  We gathered what few toys he had left and does not play with, bagged them up and made the kids at the end of the street's day. 

Now, the Little Bug's room is a different story.  Mainly because he is 7 and still plays with toys sometimes.  I'm sure when he is 10 like the Bigger Bug, he will disdain all things molded or plastic or cheap in favor of shiny, expensive electronics.  But for now, he still has toys.  LOTS of toys.  So, while relocating his bed to the other wall (crazy makeover, I know!) we were suddenly met with a mound of ...well, stuff.  To include:

• Transformer carcasses (R.I.P. Bumblebee)
• String cheese wrappers
• Cough drop wrappers
• Bandaid wrappers
• Empty water bottle
• Legos
• Various Ben 10 body parts
• Eraser-less pencils, dried out markers, broken crayons
• Fake rat from Halloween (phew!)
• Legos
• Hotwheels and Cars cars and monster trucks and other various mini modes of transportation
• Stretchy frog (fake!  and phew!)  (Side note:  much better than the dead real skink that we found in his room at one point.  Likely chased under his Lego tub by Awesome and unable to escape, only to make himself VERY well known a few weeks later - YUCK!  And yes, I do clean, but how often would you wipe down the underside of a massive bucket of Legos?  Exactly.)
• Spiral bound notebooks not so spiral bound anymore - to be used with the writing implements above
• Legos and Legos and Kinex (sneaky - look like Legos, but not!)
• Six pairs of socks and a pair of shorts

The end.  Finally, when my war against all things dusty and unclaimed and discarded was wrapping up, I just grabbed the broom and dust pan and made one last executive decision.  Battle over.  Fight again evil and chaos and a wee nod towards hoarding - done.  I was relatively unscathed - a sore spot on my heel from stepping on a Lego (surprise) and a good bruise from a brush with the bed in its new position (how did that get there?) - but I was otherwise victorious.  And exhausted.  And oh so ready for my Pack Rats Bugs to walk in and say...

This is our surprise?  Oh, I thought it would be a new DS game.   

Ahhh, I know you so well, my dear Bugs!  Welcome almost home!

I love you. And miss you badly.

Words are fascinating.  They are the tick marks that measure space on the timeline of life.  Pretty, swirly, calligraphy words that float as they are spoken like, "Will you marry me?" and words that are murmured black and heavy like, "You need to come over here as soon as you can."  Sharp, slicing words that do not bear repeating and words that are thought of in cotton candy pink bubble letters and surrounded by hearts and stars and pixie dust just as if they were doodled on a 7th grade notebook.  A favorite line from a movie or the words to the song stuck in your head.  First words.  Last words.  What I record here in the most public of settings about some of the most private and cherished moments.   

Last night, while lying in bed, my phone rang and it was The Little Bug calling from 400 miles away.  After a visit with my charming and thoroughly adorable Bugs, The Saint's sister and her family wanted to take them home through the end of July.  We negotiated two weeks and packed up what few decent clothes and socks and undergarments that actually made it home from camp (that is another story!) and the Bugs were on the road again.  I have seen pictures of roasting hot dogs and marshmallows and tubing on the lake and shooting a pistol  (EEK is not even the word), so I know this is a summer to remember.  But the bedtime call from the Little Bug about a splinter and a dog with(out) parasites and fingers slammed in doors - these Bugs are definitely boys - ended with words that I thought of in shaky, tentative lower case letters:  "I love you.  And miss you badly."

Those words.  Made me want to fling back my bed covers and drive in my PJs with unbrushed hair to Aunt Saint's house in the dead of night without a suitcase, a plan or even makeup on just to assure him that I too, love him more than life itself and miss him so badly that our whole house seems hollow and empty and just not right.

But I said, in perfect, precise store-bought words sprinkled with pearly exclamation points, "I miss you, too!  But I know you are having a great time and I can't wait to hear about all the fun stuff you do!  Listen to Aunt Saint and remember your manners.  We'll be up there to get you in no time!"  

I might have cried when I closed my phone but then, I said heart felt and whispered words of comfort and unconditional love to be swept away on the wings of my prayers and deposited in the ears of my far away and much missed Bugs.

My New Bumper Sticker: I Left My Heart in North Carolina

I heard a quote somewhere that goes something like this: To be a mother is to forever have a piece of your heart walking outside of your body.  For me, it should read more like there are two Bug-shaped pieces of it missing who are riding around in go-carts on a candy induced sugar high as I type. 

That's right, my Bugs, my two boys are somewhere in the mountains of North Carolina with the appropriate number of chaperones, copious amounts of sunscreen and bug spray, snacks and their clothes squeezed into gallon zip loc bags labeled for each day.  Sigh.  Yep, first trip away to camp. 

I knew this trip would be tough.  For them.  For me.  But I was wrong.  They have not called me yet.  Oh, except on the bus ride up:

• The Bigger Bug's call went something like this: 
• Hi Mom.  Hi Honey!  We have wee-fee (or wi-fi, ha ha!) and I don't know the pin number for my DSi.  What is it?  Ummm, not sure.  I am at work, but I can look at the paperwork that came with your DSi and you can call me on your way home.  Okay.  Bye Mom!
• About two hours later I got this call from the Little Bug: 
• Hi Mom.  Hi Love!  Are you having fun on the bus?!  Yeah, I'm having fun on the bus.  You are?!  I just wanted to call and say I miss you.  A lot.  (Thoughts racing through my head:  I could still catch the bus, it's not that far away.  Is 7 1/2 too young to send to summer camp?  Of course it is, what mother sends the Little Bug to camp?!  Will they hug him when he wakes up in the morning?  Can I send an email to the chaperone to hug him in the morning?  No, that's just weird.  But I want to.)  You are going to have such a great time, Bug!  Remember the rock climbing and go-carts and swimming?!  Okay, love you.  Bye.   

Night One:  The Saint would randomly yell out things like, "Keep it down in there!" or "No wrestling!" just to make it feel more normal.  We went to bed and I tossed and turned hoping The Bugs' pjs were warm enough for NC.  And that the Little Bug got the prerequisite hug in the morning.

Day Two:  I logged onto Facebook even before my first cup of coffee to search for pictures posted.  Only one of the Bigger Bug in the clinic.  With the title, "Our first scraped elbow."  Makin' their Mama proud.  And later on that night, one of the Little Bug waiting in line at a water slide.  Phew.  Photographic proof they are both there, alive and in one piece (mostly!).  Hmmm, but why are they both wearing a shirt from the "extra" bag.  Are they not following the daily labels?  Those are not the "Wednesday" shirts!  Oh, to heck with it, at least they are wearing clothes!  And their own, at that!

Day Three:  Is not quite done yet.  I read a post that the kids were chasing fireflies last night (or lightning bugs as we call them in the South).  My Bugs have never seen lightning bugs, so hopefully it was a big ol' bug jamboree!  And this afternoon The Little Madre sent me a blurry picture of go-carts, so I can only assume that they are happily whizzing around a track and probably in pursuit of the "second scraped elbow".

I don't miss the "misses" on the toilet seat or the Capri Sun straw wrappers that seem to multiply like rabbits or stepping on Legos in the middle of the night.  But boy do I miss The Bugs who leave them there.