While sitting in Jonah and Carson's room this afternoon, I fell into an old memory as I glanced at Carson's two snowglobes, proudly displayed on his bookshelf.
My grandma had given me my first snowglobe when I was about his age. It was the kind of toy a kid doesn't realize they want until they have it. When it wasn't joining me on make-believe adventures as my magical crystal ball, it was being lovingly shifted around my room. I was constantly trying to determine a suitable resting place for my fragile-natured toy that made me feel like a grown-up, but also offered a whimsy that encouraged me to relish my youth.
I stared at Carson's snow globes, trying to force the same magic out of them that I once felt for them as a child, but now that age and life experience has gotten the better of me, all I could see were two glass bulbs that had the potential to break and spill water all over my carpet. And why hadn't that happened yet? In a house full of boys, and with them currently sitting at toddler level, with a curious toddler in the house, I now stared in awe that Carson's snow globes had not reached the same fate as my spherical snow scene.
After a stressful day of 2nd grade, I ran up to my room to unwind by mindlessly watching glitter snow flutter in a flurry around a friendly, underwater snowman, but I instead found my little brother, Ben. With a guilty face, he raced out of my room as soon as he heard me coming. I stormed around my room, wondering aloud where my snowglobe had gone, and immediately began throwing accusations towards Ben. Hearing my panic, my mom came in my room to explain that there had been an accident. Destruction had fallen upon my tiny, perfectly encapsulated world, at the hands of my own flesh and blood.
I finished eyeing Carson's snowglobes just as Jonah walked in to ask me for an afternoon snack. I swooped him up as we marched together into the afterschool madness of homework, dinner, and clean up.
In the evening, I ran upstairs to help Lincoln get in the bath. As I walked past Jonah's room, I noticed him quietly playing at his bed and was grateful to have a few minutes of peace to get Lincoln through his nighttime routine.
I walked past Jonah's room again, and it was then I noticed the thing keeping him so quiet and busy was a snowglobe. And actually, not just one snowglobe, but both of Carson's snowglobes. I was in a hurry, and Jonah appeared to be carefully handling his brother's treasure, so I just offered a quick, "Jonah, those can break." in passing as I ran to read Lincoln a book.
Five minutes later I returned to Jonah, who now had shoulders slumped, his head down, and a visible frown on his face as he stood remorsefully over the crime scene.
"Broke snowglobe, Mom." Jonah immediately confessed. And then he wailed in disappointment.
Sure enough, there was a cracked-open snowglobe spewed all over the bed. At least he only broke one of them, I rationed to myself. Oh actually, no, the other one was also cracked and leaking fluids at a fatal rate. Jonah had banged the snow globes together and broke them both in one shot.
The tragedy of my childhood has been passed down to future generations, but as my grandma always said, "Tis better to have globed and lost than never to have globed at all." Rest in pieces, dear snowglobes. You left our hearts broken in as many pieces as your poorly-designed glass shell. Please forgive me snowglobe universe for ignoring the signs and impressions that would have prevented this second tragedy from happening. I know some people say they don't believe in global warning, but after today, I am a believer.
