Sunday, January 21, 2007

Entirely for me

I could tell you what I had for lunch (creamy chicken and wild rice soup, a slice of pumpkin bread, and a cup of tea) but something tells me you don't care. That something is "No One Cares What You Had For Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog" by Margaret Mason, of which I recently found myself the proud owner of an autographed copy. ("You are great" says Maggie. That's huge praise coming from THE Maggie Mason! She is, after all, famous among dozens.)

Thankfully she didn't title the book, "Enough Already About The Kid." As you may have noticed, The Kid makes up a large portion of my material. It's not because I think you're all that interested in my child. It's because, to be be perfectly honest, this blog is WAY more for me than it is for you. And I don't do baby books or scrap books, so I've got to write this stuff down somewhere, or memories of conversations like this and scenes like this will be lost forever. And this current post is more entirely for me than any other I've posted.

Yesterday afternoon I collapsed on my bed, exhausted from an intense day of laundry. As is usually the case, it took only mere seconds for The Kid to notice my absence, and I found his green eyes peering at me expectantly from the edge of the bed. "What are you doing?" he asked, and then immediately thrust a teeny, tiny toy megaphone at my mouth. "I'm taking a break," I answered into the megaphone. He asked me a few more questions, and we took turns talking into the megaphone. After establishing exactly what I was doing on my bed and how long I expected to be there, he climbed up next to me and snuggled into the "spoon" of my legs. It was my turn to talk, so I said "I love you." His turn: "I love you too." And then we spent the next 20 minutes taking turns explaining what we love about each other (all into the megaphone, of course).

It's an unusual thing to get a hug and kiss out of The Kid these days. I'm still granted the privilege when I drop him off at preschool, and then again at bedtime, but the rest of the day is completely off limits. (Except when I work it into the negotiations, like "Sure I'll get you a glass of apple juice... if you give me a hug." And even then I've only got about a 50/50 shot, with him often deciding he's not really all that thirsty after all.) So such a lengthy, spontaneous, and entirely voluntary declaration of love is completely unheard of. I've never been so disappointed at not having a forehead equipped with some sort of recording device.

In case any of you were wondering (but really because I don't want to forget myself), these are a few of the things my son thinks of his mother:

"I love my mommy because..."

"...she keeps me safe as a turtle in a shell, and snuggles me like I'm in a cozy nest, and I feel as small as a bug." (Check out the similes on that kid!)

"...she's always smiley and she laughs a lot."

"...she always plays with me, even though sometimes she says 'just a minute'."

"...she's the best at reading stories."

"...she's pretty, but she still makes good car noises, and gun noises, and fighting noises."

"...she helps me learn my letters."

"...she always loves me, even when I make bad choices."

If there's anything more a mother could hope to hear from her 5 year old son, I can't think of what it might be. Except maybe the current weather in Australia, which was reported by The Kid in full detail immediately following the love fest.

1 comment:

KW said...

See The Kid thinks you're an awesome mom too.

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