We have a rocking chair glider in my son’s room. When we moved to the new house almost four months ago, I questioned whether I still wanted to hang on to this hunky piece of furniture. I don’t use it. My husband doesn’t use it. The kids don’t use it – at least not in the proper way a rocking chair is to be used. Why exactly do I need it? I keep it around for sentimental value. It’s a fixture in his room and I just couldn’t toss it/sell it/donate it. So there it sits in the corner. An occasional “horse” for my son. A spot to hold clean laundry for me.
One particular night was different though and I happened upon the reason we truthfully still have it in our possession.
I heard my son crying his eyes out in his bedroom a good hour after I put him down. He was speaking gibberish about his jammies, his papa, a pencil, baseball, crocodiles. I had no idea how these things correlate. What I did know is that it appeared he had been awake ever since I tucked him in and had managed to work himself into a real frenzy over these seemingly random thoughts.
Scooping him up, I took him to the rocking chair and tucked him into the mama-child pose, as I call it, and started rocking. That slow fluid motion calmed him. It calmed me. I asked him if he wanted me to sing him a song. “Yes, mama.” I delivered my best (which is terrible) “Twinkle, Twinkle” and “Silent Night”. Both are songs that we sang to my daughter in her rocking chair that always did the trick for her. When I finished the last note, off-pitch as it was, he sighed contentedly. The biggest and most exaggerated sigh I have ever heard.
That is it, my friends. That is the simple reason we still have his rocking chair. Because I can scoop him up and tuck him safely in my arms, rock and sing to him, and calm even the most frenzied thoughts in his mind. So the chair rocks on and until the next time we need it, it is perfect for horse rides and folded laundry.