It has been an especially trying week, so instead of focusing on what is not right in my world, I have been trying to invest energy in remembering what is well and good and healthy. This week's focus is on that... the moments when my boys make me laugh and remember that being a parent is the hardest, yet most rewarding thing that I will ever do with my life.
When I came home from work, my youngest son was diligently working on writing something at the kitchen table. "What are you doing Buddy?", I asked. "Are you working on homework already?" He pauses and replies, "No Momma. I'm writing my girlfriend list." Silence. "Your what?!?", I question, thinking I may have heard him wrong. "My girlfriend list" he replies, and continues working with intense focus. Totally straight faced, my oldest chimes in, "Don't worry Mom. It keeps changing every day." (WHAT?!?!) That's my boys.
At 4:30 am, I woke to a little face a mere inch from mine. As I strangle a scream and struggle to come to consciousness, I realize that it is my youngest son. "Wha. Wha. Wha.", I mumble incoherently. "I had a bad dream.", he tells me. My consoling, mother-of-the-year response was "Go to the potty and go back to bed." Surprisingly, he does. An hour and a half later, when I get him up for school, he informs me "I'm not making bad robots anymore." Huh??? "What?", I ask him, very confused where this is coming from. "I'm not making ANYMORE robots!" OOOOkay. In my head, I'm thinking "What the heck is this kid talking about?" He goes on to explain, "My bad dream. I'm not making anymore bad robots 'cause they give me bad dreams. Only good robots from now on. NO MORE BAD ROBOTS!" Ohhhh. Now I get it. His dream earlier was about bad robots and apparently he has been "making" bad robots at school. Now I get it. Sort of.
My oldest son is upstairs getting ready for bed singing Toby Keith's "Red Solo Cup" at the top of his lungs. His father hollers up the steps, "Knock it off." At which point, my youngest, sitting on the floor at the bottom of the steps, playing with Legos, picks up the chorus and begins to sing. From upstairs, my oldest continues the song... pauses.... my youngest fills in the missing line... my oldest continues.... and so on. We can't help it. We burst out laughing. You have never heard a more original version of this song. A tone deaf eleven year old and a five year old with speech and communication delays singing together. Priceless.
To this day, no one in our immediate family can go past the deli counter at a super market without thinking of the classic line, "I like cheese, Pap." When my oldest son was three, he was very precocious and charming. Whenever we went to the store together, the ladies at the deli would fuss over him and give him pieces of cheese. He learned to play this up to get extra slices. It was adorable yet alarming how he worked these grown women. One day, he happened to go to the grocery store with his grandfather. This wasn't his usual grocery store. As they approached the deli, he loudly commented "I like cheese, Pap." There was none of the usual response. No fussing. No fawning over his cuteness. No free cheese samples. So again, louder, he states, "I like cheese, Pap." No luck. Still no customary response. Finally, in a very loud voice, he declares, "I LIKE CHEESE, PAP!" This finally earns him a grudging, "Would you like a slice of cheese?", to which he replies, "Yes, please."
It was the first really significant snowfall, the winter my oldest son was two or three years old. My husband and I were so excited to take him out sled riding. We all bundled up and headed outside. Our property is made for sled riding. Absolutely perfect. We live on the corner lot, at the top of a pretty sizable hill that slopes down towards our nearest neighbor's house. Overnight, it had gotten chilly and frozen the new snow into a crisp glaze, perfect for fast sledding. For the first handful of trips down the hill, my husband rode the sled with my son on his lap, while I took pictures. It was fast and fun. After a dozen or so trips, my husband decided that we had a decent "sled groove" cut into the snow. On the next run, he thought we should let our son go down the hill alone. Okay.... well, no. Not okay. As he went down the hill, the sled began to pick up speed. Nervously, I realize that without my husband's extra weight, the sled was picking up significant speed. Just as I broke into a run down the hill, the sled JUMPED out of the sled groove and took off for the road that borders our property. Now we were BOTH running and screaming (like the sled would hear us and stop!) over snow and ice glaze. Just like that... my son and the sled "pop" over the road bank and disappear from view. AHHHH! My husband VAULTS over the bank and discovers my son face down in the ditch with the sled on top of him. Thankfully, we live out in the country, so it wasn't a busy, highly traveled road. He ended up with a face full of snow, a brush burn down the side of his face, and a swollen eye, that had receded back to normal by the time we made it to the ER, like the crazy first time parents that we were. At the time, it was the scariest moment of our parenting lives. Today, in retrospect, the vision of that moment when he popped over the road bank can still cause us to break into fits of giggles.... We are sick people.
My youngest son has always had a special fondness for my one uncle. Ironically, they live in Baltimore and we only see them a couple times a year. That never seems to dim his unbridled affection for him. This year at Christmas was no different. At suppertime on Christmas Eve, as the whole family assembled, my youngest declared that he and Uncle Mike were going to share supper. The significance of this is that he and his grandfather have ALWAYS shared dessert. After a meal, when dessert is served, he climbs up next to his Pap and they eat dessert off of the same plate. I don't know how it started, but it has been a tradition for the two of them forever. Apparently, my son felt that it was a great honor or a special bond or something for he and his uncle to eat supper off of the same plate. Bless his heart, my uncle agreed to it! For most, this may not seem like such a big deal. But there are two problems. One, my son is a terribly gross eater. His fine motor delays combined with his impulsiveness cause him more often than not to abandon his utensils and resort to eating with his hands. He can't sit still, so he's shifting around; touching the people around him; in general, getting messy and covered in food. The second problem, is that my aunt is a bit of a germ phobe. She doesn't like germs, or mess, or anything unsanitary. Needless to say, it was a priceless experience to see my uncle share a dinner plate with this messy, gross kid and to watch his wife watch the spectacle. I still break into giggles every time I think of it.
It's these moments, these funny little memories, sayings, phrases, or jokes that families share, that make the tough times bearable. It's these moments that bind you together. I'm so grateful for moments like these in my life. I have so many with these men of mine.
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