I still lay down at night with Blake, 5, and Dylan, 4, as they go to sleep. Often, I am impatient for them to drift off, so I can get on with my exciting evening of laundry and dishes and Facebook. But I try to remind myself that they will not be small forever, and they surely will not want me in their room when they are 12 and 11, and I will miss this time then. (Right??)
Sometimes, in the dark, they whisper with me. It's lovely to hear their quiet voices after a day of mostly shouting over each other. And in their exhaustion, the conversations rarely disappoint.
From tonight:
"Mom, are we made of meat?" Blake asked.
"Um, I guess, in a way."
"Well, what parts of the body are made of meat?"
"Uhhh.... All of them?"
"I don't look like meat."
"I guess any part that is a muscle is kind of like meat. But no one eats people, so we don't really think of our muscles as meat."
"Sharks eat people."
"I guess you're right."
"Unless it's a vegetarian shark."
Yes, one day I will miss this.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Unexpected
"Are you sure it's his?" Thomas asked.
He whispered his joke, not wanting Dylan to hear his disbelief in the glowing report card we got from preschool today.
"Yes!" I replied. But I reread it, searching for clues that it might be boilerplate, and I counted how many times his name was mentioned -- 11.
Eleven seems like a lot of effort to put into a form letter.
Dylan's year-end profile was full of words like "pleasure," "willing," "polite," and "cooperative," and it filled me with unexpected joy.
My friend Sarah at Momalom is hosting a writing contest this week, in conjunction with 3 Sprouts, a company that designs unique and modern children's products. They want to hear mothers' stories of the unexpected. I imagine knowing one of the judges might disqualify this entry. But today's report card prompted one of the most delightful moments of surprise that I have experienced since becoming a mother.
Because it's not as if Dylan and "the unexpected" are strangers. It's just that Dylan's unexpected has often come in the form of a grocery-store throwdown worthy of the octagon, a dentist motivated to check his retirement portfolio, or an ear drum-busting alarm and flashing strobes.
Or a heart-stopping 10 minutes of OHMYGOD WHERE DID HE GO???!! amidst the confusion of elementary-school pickup.
I have searched Dylan's eyes for happiness.
I have sent Dylan to his room too many times.
I have tried hard to find a balance between setting expectations for behavior and not breaking his independent spirit.
I have described him as shy while sometimes wondering if he's unsociable.
Tenacious, determined, stubborn, a puzzle, a handful -- all words that would not have surprised me on his report card.
My parents read Dylan's note tonight. My father laughed. "Are you sure there isn't some sort of portal he goes through when he goes into school?" he said.
My mother was so proud of him, and made me feel like maybe his parents are actually doing something right.
What that something is, though, is anybody's guess. And who cares? Today, Dylan's teachers said, "He does it all, and has fun while doing it."
Jackpot!
May he keep having fun -- and surprising me -- until I come to expect it from him.
He whispered his joke, not wanting Dylan to hear his disbelief in the glowing report card we got from preschool today.
"Yes!" I replied. But I reread it, searching for clues that it might be boilerplate, and I counted how many times his name was mentioned -- 11.
Eleven seems like a lot of effort to put into a form letter.
Dylan's year-end profile was full of words like "pleasure," "willing," "polite," and "cooperative," and it filled me with unexpected joy.
My friend Sarah at Momalom is hosting a writing contest this week, in conjunction with 3 Sprouts, a company that designs unique and modern children's products. They want to hear mothers' stories of the unexpected. I imagine knowing one of the judges might disqualify this entry. But today's report card prompted one of the most delightful moments of surprise that I have experienced since becoming a mother.
Because it's not as if Dylan and "the unexpected" are strangers. It's just that Dylan's unexpected has often come in the form of a grocery-store throwdown worthy of the octagon, a dentist motivated to check his retirement portfolio, or an ear drum-busting alarm and flashing strobes.
Or a heart-stopping 10 minutes of OHMYGOD WHERE DID HE GO???!! amidst the confusion of elementary-school pickup.
I have searched Dylan's eyes for happiness.
I have sent Dylan to his room too many times.
I have tried hard to find a balance between setting expectations for behavior and not breaking his independent spirit.
I have described him as shy while sometimes wondering if he's unsociable.
Tenacious, determined, stubborn, a puzzle, a handful -- all words that would not have surprised me on his report card.
My parents read Dylan's note tonight. My father laughed. "Are you sure there isn't some sort of portal he goes through when he goes into school?" he said.
My mother was so proud of him, and made me feel like maybe his parents are actually doing something right.
What that something is, though, is anybody's guess. And who cares? Today, Dylan's teachers said, "He does it all, and has fun while doing it."
Jackpot!
May he keep having fun -- and surprising me -- until I come to expect it from him.
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