So, those of you who read my stuff on a regular basis know that we have two boys.
What you may not know is that both, while strong and capable, fierce and determined, well both are tender at heart.
Both have a weak spot for animals. Old people. The poor.
Both are funny, hard-working and kind.
And both are tender at heart.
So, it was a big of a surprise when, a month ago or so, youngest boy and I came across a wee baby mouse in the basement, zipping around.
“Look at him! He’s so cute!”
“No, he’s a rodent. And where there’s 1 there’s probably 10,” said the farm girl/mother/me.
“C’mon, Mom, just let me catch him and take him outside…….”
“No, they carry disease; you’re not touching that.”
And with that, the wee mouse came running up to his foot and stopped. Perfectly still.
Others might have stomped on him. But we didn’t.
We left.
We told Hubbs.
Who freaked.
And set traps.
Many traps.
Farm girl saw a tiny mouse the size of this hair tie in the basement …look what city boy bought to catch it with.
Traps that were checked. Traps where nothing happened.
Nothing.
Time went on.
And still … no mouse.
Flash forward to tonight; the weather’s turned colder, the nights are nippier, and youngest has been asking to wash his electric blanket. The same one that’s been languishing in a basement laundry basket all summer.
So tonight .. into the wash it went. And before I put it in the machine, I shook it.
And out rolled a teeny tiny mouse. {dead of natural causes}
I guess he knew that, if he couldn’t survive our big scary basement all on his own, he might as well find a cozy spot to curl up in: the blanket belonging to a tender-hearted boy.
Being a man with a tender heart can be really hard sometimes, but it can also be the most beautiful of times. – Anonymous
My Dad was a tender-hearted man, too, so fostering that quality comes naturally to me. Was that trait fostered in your family?
