Boys will be Boys

It has not been a difficult winter, but all the same, I’m anxious for spring. Spring makes everything come alive again. What is old seems new. It’s such a beautiful time of year.

I’ve recently had the opportunity to watch my husband rejuvenate, but then again, I often catch him acting like a child. On this particular occasion, we had just finished our shopping at Sam’s Club and were on our way to the parking lot.

Now I must start out by telling you that every year on his birthday, my husband promises me that he’s going to grow up. The problem is that he’s never delivered on that promise. The trip to Sam’s Club was a case in point. As he does on every trip to Sam’s, my husband began to play scooter-shopping cart as soon as we cleared the exit from the store.

He typically pushes off and rides the cart to our parked vehicle, and this time was no different. Off he scooted like a ten-year old. What was different this time was the agonizing yelp that he let out after a few attempts to push start. To my horror, my husband was hunched over grasping his calf.

I ran to him to see if I could help. Sure enough, he had torn some muscle or ligament and was struggling to walk. He hobbled to the car and we managed to get him in the front seat. At home, we iced him up and instead of letting me call the doctor, he was online trying to self-diagnose his injury. Not exactly the mature thing to do.

He convinced himself that it was a muscle tear or a bad sprain. I was able to get him to take some anti-inflammatory medication, and fortunately he fell asleep. My “little boy” was resting peacefully, but I wanted to hit him over the head.

The night before he was to fly a trip to London, he woke up in the middle of the night to “practice” his walking. He didn’t want passengers to see their captain walking with a limp. So he bit his lip and walked, telling me with each step that “it really doesn’t hurt that bad. I think I can do this. Do I look normal?” Well, that was a loaded question!

He flew the trip to London and hobbled back home a few days later.

My husband limped around on that sore muscle for weeks. He refused to go to the doctor. He’d be fine. His calf just needed some time to heal. Last week, we had to stop at Sam’s Club to pick up a few things. On our way to the parking lot, I looked my husband in the eye as he pushed the cart out the door and said, “Don’t you dare.”

“I promise you that I will grow up,” he said. “One day.” He’s still in the spring of his life! So as my bulbs push their way up through the ground, as the temperature gets warmer and warmer each day, I eagerly await the adventures that we have ahead of us this spring, me and “my boy!”