Aiden’s recent obsession with hockey, though, drives me crazy. Thanks to his after-school program at the community center, all the kids got to attend the first game of the season last week with free tickets donated by the team.
I’ve always kept sports out of our house—no Little League or soccer at the park. No jerseys to wash, or weekend tournaments or expensive equipment to buy. I take advantage of free programs when I can for him, but that’s it. Anything more just isn’t on this single mom’s budget. But for a week straight, hockey is all he’s been talking about.
He’s finally ready for bed, but still standing about. “Mom, I can’t find Nuk. I’m positive I left him on my bed this morning,” he shouts.
“We’ll find it.” I move into his bedroom and we search everywhere.
Where is that darn polar bear?Grr.I’m as growly as one, eyes burning, brain lagging with at least three more hours of homework waiting for me once he’s asleep. I seriously question whether finishing my degree is worth it.
Of course, I kneel by his bed and, after digging out the pile of laundry he’d hidden there when he was supposed to throw things in the washer this morning, I find it underneath.
“Here he is. Your precious Nuk-Nuk.” I smile through my exhaustion, too tired to argue about his not doing chores. He smiles at me sheepishly as I drag out the stuffed animal anyway, knowing he got caught.
“I promise I’ll throw the laundry in tomorrow,” he says and hugs Nuk tight.
It was a gift from his father when he was four, and it used to be snowy white. Now it’s gray in the places where he hugs the hardest. It used to go with him everywhere, now, as a third grader, he keeps it only to snuggle at night as he drifts off to sleep.
“Mom, I’ve been thinking about my birthday.” He finally settles in under the covers, Nuk by his side, his fingers fidgeting with a foam hockey puck that was a freebie from the game.
“It’s only October. Your birthday is at Christmas.” The bed sags under my weight as I take a seat beside him and sigh. I reach a hand up to swipe the dark hair out of his eyes; it’s already grown out from his back to school cut.
“But you always say we should plan ahead.”
Oh, no. He’s only eight and using my words against me. I’m not ready for the next ten years to fly by when he’ll be taller than me, and packing an attitude.
“You’re right. I do. So tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Well, all my friends are signing up for hockey skating lessons. They’re going to learn to play hockey and shoot the pucks, and I want that, too.”
So much for the latest superhero robotic action figure he said he wanted last month that I’d been saving for. Numbers start stacking in my head—lessons, rentals, gear—and a mouth guard, definitely, because I don’t need dental bills.
My chest tightens with multiple dollar signs adding up. It seems hardly fair to any child born on Christmas Day to have their birthday compete with Christmas.
Out of my mouth comes my usual saying, “I’ll think about it.”
“But Mom, please. It’s all I want. In fact, you can forget about buying me Christmas presents, and only get me this for my birthday.”
Sly boy. “Me? Buy you presents to unwrap on Christmas morning? Don’t be silly. You know Santa brings them.”
His eyes perform an exaggerated roll. “Right. But I have yet to find proof of the big man from the North Pole visiting our house Christmas Eve, don’t I?”
I hold back a grin at my smart kid and all the things he’s tried for the past two holidays to catch Santa in the act, from hiding under the couch table hoping to surprise him, to setting up a trip wire across the fireplace. Of course, I humored my child in his experiments, knowing full well he would be asleep long before midnight.
“And um…well…I um...” He chews his cheek and casts his eyes away from me.
“What is it?” He doesn’t budge. “Tell me, or you get the tickle monster.” I have my hands up, fingers poised and ready above his tummy to tackle him.
He giggles, then blurts out. “My friends were all talking about the skating lessons today, and I felt left out, so I sort of told them I’d be having a birthday party at the rink where we can all skate and have fun together.”
My shoulders droop. “What? Aiden Michael Branch. You shouldn’t have done that.” I scowl. Rarely do I need to get mad at him; he’s a pretty good boy, but this stunt of his puts me in a bind. There’s no way I can afford to throw him a party.
“I’m sorry. I’ll take it back. Just please get me hockey skates for my birthdayandChristmas. That’s all I want.” Alligator-sized tears form along the brim of his eyes, his bottom lip quivers, and my heart breaks for him. For me. For us.
I thought leaving his father was the right thing. Some days, watching Aiden want what I can’t give him, I’m not so sure. He’s the one who has had to suffer without a father and without some things his classmates have, like fancy birthday parties, clothes that don’t come from the thrift store, and fun things to do.
I pull him into my arms and hold him tight, while rubbing slow circles into his back until his breathing eases under my palm. Once he calms down, I reach for the tissues from a box on his side table so I can dab at his eyes and nose.
“It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll figure something out. It’s been a long day, and you need to get to sleep. I love you bunches.” I lean in and give him a peck on the cheek.
