Why You Should Consider Getting Your Child a Bow and Arrow

self insemination kit

During our recent family trip to the mountains, my husband excitedly told our kids they could each choose a toy. I was initially against the idea, as I generally dislike accumulating items that clutter our home and require constant tidying.

While I was happily lost in the hiking gear section, selecting new pants and a shirt, I remained blissfully unaware of the toys my husband allowed the kids to choose. One child opted for a plastic truck that made obnoxious noises while performing stunts; another picked a truck with a dinosaur that seemed more absurd than appealing. But the real shock came when my oldest son made his selection.

I stood there, mouth agape, trying to devise a way to chastise my husband discreetly. “I told you Mom said I couldn’t have arrows anymore,” Jake protested.

“That was because the last time we let you have anything like that, you shot your brother in the face,” I reminded him.

“It wasn’t the face,” my 7-year-old replied, bow and arrow at his side. “It was close to it.”

“It left a bruise for days!” I shot back.

Meanwhile, my middle child dramatically clutched his dinosaur truck, and the youngest was obliviously stuck in a display of baseball bats, making a racket.

“Well, he promised not to aim at anyone,” my husband defended himself. “He’ll be shooting at this.” He held up a box labeled “inflatable wild boar.”

“Oh my goodness,” I barely managed to suppress my expletives. “You’re really buying our son a bow and arrow set along with a— how big is that thing? Three feet long? — inflatable boar? Just to clarify, you’ve spent too much time in the Deep South.”

“He’s 7,” my husband said, as if that explained everything.

It became clear to me that there were some decisions that a mother simply couldn’t influence. They packed the bow and arrows for the trip, along with the inflatable boar. As soon as they arrived, they tore open the packages and dashed outside to aim arrows at the boar’s side, which I felt was only going to make the inflatable target angrier.

While at the cabin, the kids rushed outside to play, but only Jake got to use the bow and arrow because, apparently, 7 was the magical age for handling projectile weapons. His attempts to hit the boar were more about fun than accuracy. He didn’t stalk it like a hunter; he stood back and practiced his aim.

The boar was unmistakably a boar, complete with exaggerated features. I found its design unnecessarily crude, but Jake relished the challenge. He took the shooting seriously; this was his solo venture, and no one else was invited to join.

It was a stark contrast to the days when he would bombard us with books, interrupting my writing to show off new toys. Now, he read on his own and engaged in activities that felt more grown-up. I had anticipated he might choose a more juvenile toy, but here he was, opting for a bow and arrow set and an inflatable boar instead.

This was a clear indication that my firstborn was growing up. He giggled, poked the boar with exuberance, and pretended sticks were guns. He wanted to discover treasures in the streams and found joy in the simplest of things. I found it amusing, and honestly, it was far better than the raucous noises of the obnoxious truck.

As I watched him enjoy this new phase of play, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the baby he once was. But I also realized that embracing this new side of him—as he hugged me and said, “I love you, Mom”—was just as precious.

If you’re interested in family adventures or parenting insights, check out our blog on home insemination, which dives into topics like fertility and family planning. Additionally, you can explore resources at Progyny for more information on pregnancy and home insemination.

Summary:

In this reflective piece, a mother shares her initial resistance to her husband’s decision to let their son choose a bow and arrow and an inflatable boar during a family trip. As she observes her son embracing this new interest, she grapples with the bittersweet realization that he is growing up. The narrative highlights the joy of childhood play and the inevitable changes that come with it, ultimately leading to a deeper appreciation for the moments shared with her son.