For most mothers with a son, this is a very familiar scene:
Boy with Buzz Lightyear.
Boy with Buzz Lightyear.
I dropped twenty bucks for this ginormous piece of plastic.
After Oliver had his IV sedation and two new front teeth added to his mouth
(oh, and after the IV meds injected, I thought he had died because
his eyes stopped blinking. You bet I cried).
The nurses assured me he was just fine, then showed me out.
But after all of that, I took my little drugged son to Target to get him
But after all of that, I took my little drugged son to Target to get him
whatever his little medicated heart wanted.
It wanted Buzz Lightyear.
After we were settled in the car and all the plastic wrapping had been torn,
It wanted Buzz Lightyear.
After we were settled in the car and all the plastic wrapping had been torn,
I looked back to see Oliver with a very frustrated look on his face.
(The drugs were still in effect, so he couldn't see, and his eyes were blurry).
(The drugs were still in effect, so he couldn't see, and his eyes were blurry).
But Buzz, alas, had no wings—no wings!?
Massive crocodile tears plopped down his cheeks.
Massive crocodile tears plopped down his cheeks.
He was overreacting a little, but it was warranted.
But soon after we were home and the medication was out of his system,
But soon after we were home and the medication was out of his system,
plastic Buzz became a Nielson.
Buzz Nielson.
I like the sound of that.
Buzz came on a recent family bike ride (rode snug as a bug in my basket),
Buzz Nielson.
I like the sound of that.
Buzz came on a recent family bike ride (rode snug as a bug in my basket),
sleeps with Oliver, and eats with Oliver.
Just today, I noticed Buzz was peeking at me in the shower.
Oh, Buzzy!
Look at that new smile and shiny teeth!!!
Happy Birthday to my dear Mother.
I love you so much!
{my blessing day August 1981}
