I Forgot

I forgot what it's like to have a two-year old.

I forgot that when he says he doesn't like Ravioli and I give him Ravioli anyway because his mom said sometimes he says no but he really means yes and he won't eat the Ravioli because, yes, he did indeed mean no, and I tell him OK, you eat your carrots and I'll make you some macaroni and cheese and then, because he's two and has no conception of time as we know it in this universe, he thinks that means macaroni and cheese RIGHT NOW and so, hey! he better clear off his high chair so he strong-arms that dinner right off the tray and onto the floor so Ravioli and peas and carrots shoot into the air in quite the display.

I forgot that macaroni and cheese means MACARONI not bow-tie pasta because they are NOT THE SAME THINGS AT ALL and he absolutely is astonished that I would think he is going to eat those ridiculous shaped things which are OBVIOUSLY not macaroni, what's wrong with you?

I forgot that you can't say now as soon as you finish those scrambled eggs Mimi made for you because the Ravioli and Macaroni and Cheese simply didn't cut it, we are going to take a bath and then we'll put on our pajamas and watch Blue's Clues and won't that be fun and that means BOOS COOS RIGHT NOW and then it's a little difficult to explain that no, scrambled eggs NOW, BOOS COOS LATER.

But I didn't forget that when I blow the pinwheel for him after dinner he will laugh out loud every time. Every single time. And that chuckle is bright and silvery and cascades into my heart and lodges there.

And I will make him Macaroni and cheese with macaroni and scrambled eggs or whatever he wants to eat forever and forever and forever.

The Sands Of Time Run Out Fast

We had an assembly at school the other day. Test scores and raising them are both the focus of our lives at pretty much any school nowadays. We had a pirate theme going on and everyone had eye patches and pirate hats and there was more than one "Aaaarr" to be heard. I was talking to a friend about the assembly last fall when we were all gung-ho about the Star Wars theme and I was thinking aloud that I didn't remember being there when that was introduced and I must have missed it and then...I remembered.

That was when dad died.

We went to the pumpkin patch the other day to pick out pumpkins and eat apple pie and take a hay ride with the little blonde boy who is the center of all our lives and I was trying to remember why I didn't go to the pumpkin patch last year and then...I remembered.

I was at the funeral home that day making arrangements.

Hard to believe it's been a year. And yet it's easy to believe as well. Time slips by so quickly, so quietly, so seamlessly knitting up the days that you don't notice it at all. The days and weeks and months slip through our grasp until a year has passed and it seems like just yesterday they handed that folded up flag to my mom while the Marines saluted and it was a cool fall day and we were all crying.

Things change. Life happens. When I handed Wes a little wooden toy train car I got free from Toys R Us the other day, he laughed aloud and said "Thomas!". Clearly. Understandably.

When dad died, Wes wasn't talking at all.

Things change. Life happens. Some of it is sad. But we have to remember. Some of it is good. Very good.

Harry Potter Is Next, My Friends! (Not A Spoiler.)

Naptime

He wakes up crying from his nap so I go in to get him and, when he sees me, he stands up in the crib, holds up his arms and says "Mimi." It's the first time he has said it so clearly. My heart breaks into a million silvery pieces that fly away but one lodges in my throat and chokes me and brings hot tears to my eyes.

I pick him up and his blonde, downy head lays down on my shoulder. It's heavy and warm. He's not quite awake. I go in the family room and sit in the recliner and rock him a little bit to wake him up. But he's not ready to wake up. He tucks in close and nestles his head against my breast and his hand drifts lightly, softly against my other breast and falls open like a soft flower. His eyelids flutter and fall slowly closed again and his breathing is soft, soft against my neck and his foot is warm against my bare leg.

He is warm, warm and he relaxes into sleep and I recline the chair and lay my head back and close my eyes. His body is soft and warm and relaxed against my chest and now he is deeply asleep and his small foot relaxes against my leg. And it is so small.

I am dozing now too and the fan overhead turns, turns and the cool air bathes us both but we are warm, warm and content and sleepy and life is good.

And it's naptime.

Just Around The Corner

I had Wesley for the day last Thursday, as I told you. Summer has started, school is out and Wesley and I are a team of explorers, determined to have the most possible fun we can in one day a week. He's 19 months old and I'm in my fifties, so it's lucky that I like some of the same things he likes.

So, we went to story hour at the public library. I used to be a children's librarian in a public library, so I conducted many, many story hours and then, when I had children, I took them to story hours at the library. But it has been many years. My children were in high school and college when we moved into the district for this branch library, so I never visited the children's section. I knew vaguely where it was, over in the corner on the other side, but I had never visited there.

Anyway, Wes and I went there. It's a whole other world over there. For years I have been going to this library to check out books for pleasure and to read magazines, doing professional reading and research and meeting with others to work on our National Board Certification. But I never once visited the children's section.

I have to say, it's pretty darn cool. They have all these great wooden toys and puzzles which are attached to the tables so they can't be lost (what a great idea) and bright pictures and rugs and a story pit with stairs just right for a little boy to climb up and down, up and down. There were a surprising number of small children there on a weekday morning. I always forget how many moms don't work. Wes was in heaven. He played and laughed and shared and grabbed, just like all the others.

Then, the librarian called the children to story hour. I thought it would be in the story pit, but it was in another room altogether, which I never even knew existed. She had songs and finger plays and books to read and, best of all, oh, best of all! She had a ball. Wes was in a paroxysm of delight in my lap when she brought out the ball. But he waited patiently until it was his turn, then he threw it to another child. It was obvious he has been read to by Mommy and Daddy, because he was one of the most patient and attentive children in the group, actually looking at the illustrations in the book she held up.

The kids had a lot of fun. They learned that the library is a pretty neat place. An important lesson and one they may hold onto until they are adults. Hopefully, they will.

It was a great outing. One we both enjoyed. But here's the thing that still amazes me. This was a whole, entire area of the open building with kids and toys and rugs and books and colors and sounds. And I never even glimpsed it. It was right there. And I never glimpsed it.

It kind of made me wonder what else might be on the other side of a building, around that next corner, on that other street? What else I have never glimpsed? Interesting to think about, isn't it?

Life Is Not Fair

I have been sick. Annoyingly, nose-runningly, hacking coughy, heachachy, would like to just remove my head from my body sick.

I kept Wes the first day I got sick and we had a GREAT day together, but later in the afternoon, I started feeling...not quite right. My nose would not stop running. We went to the mall to buy him new shoes...Cars shoes! They light up and have little tiny, fake wheels on the side. They were so cool, I almost wanted a pair for myself. Wes was not incredibly excited. He watched the lights on them for about 10 seconds, then became astonishingly amazed by a light fixture in the ceiling. Doesn't take much to amuse him. So, we got the shoes and then had lunch in the food court and got a big chocolate chip cookie (well, of course we did).

I had prepared for this outing by bringing an entire box of Kleenex because, what with him teething and me having a pre-cold status, we were having a contest to see just who could generate the most snot. I won. So, anyway. We got a big cookie. And let me just say here that, apparently, I have forgotten just how messy a 19-month old can be. I gave him a piece of cookie because even as the generous, give that child whatever he wants! Mimi that I am, I am not going to hand him a cookie as big as his head. Then I broke off a piece for myself, because, really, he can't eat that whole cookie and I should really help him out because I'm just that way, which took, like maybe 30 seconds and I looked back and he had consumed that piece and had chocolate on his face, his hands, the stroller and a couple who were walking by. OK, not really, but it was close. I sighed and gave him some more cookie because, really, why not? He was already a chocolate covered cootie-head, what difference would a few more smears make? We ate one cookie and part of another and I decided that was quite enough cookie for a little boy, so I wrapped up the other one (and I just realized that 3/4 of a cookie is still in my tote bag. Give me just a second...ah, thanks. I'm sure I can type with one hand.) and put it in the bag. That boy is no dummy. He saw me do it. He pointed to the bag with that one index finger he uses to point accusingly and said "Hey, give me that cookie. I saw you put it in there. What do ya think? I'm a dummy?" OK, he may not have used those exact words, but I could see in his eyes what he meant. So I distracted him with something like a straw wrapper (this is easily done at 19 months, not so much at 5 or so, I'll have to refine my tricks) and we went to the bathroom for a sponge bath before we went home to mommy, who would not appreciate me returning a child who strongly resembled a chocolate covered cherry with blonde hair.

ANYWAY. By the time we got home in the late afternoon and had a nap (both of us), I was feeling kinda creaky. I returned the boy to his home (where he clung to my shoulder and actually took a minute of thought before he would go to daddy - he probably thought every day with me would be all party/circus/fair/cotton candy/clowns/candy/and tumbling acrobats just for him - little does he know the highlight of our lives around here is when we eat our dinner off TV trays while watching "Stargate" on DVD) and came home, put on my pajamas and got on the couch where I was dozing when Tom came home. I did drag myself in the kitchen and throw together some dinner - but, really, how hard is it to make Fettuccine Alfredo Chicken with packaged chicken and Alfredo sauce in the jar - but I would say that's the last meal I'm making for a while. I would seriously have liked to be able to remove my head from my body, because the rest of me felt OK, but my head was so stuffed full of mucous, my forehead was actually bulging like some mutant alien was about to burst forth.

But the point of this post. Yes, I have a point. Stop laughing. The point is I had a couple of sick days. And I'm not working. I had sick days when I was on VACATION. This is not the way sick days are supposed to work. You are supposed to get to take a sick day OFF WORK. I had to waste a sick day being really, really sick. How annoying is this. Life is seriously not fair.

If It's Sunday, This Must be Wesley

We got to keep Wesley this weekend. I use the term "we" loosely, since Tom's part in keeping Wesley consists of chasing, playing, laughing and tickling. My part consists of feeding, diaper-changing and cleaning up. Well, that's not really fair, since Tom has kept him alone and done all the afore mentioned chores as well as playing with him. And done them annoyingly well. Even without me.

And I don't mind the chores part. In fact, I like them. I don't even mind (at least not terribly) changing a really poopy diaper. It's the one time I have him captured and can really see his beautiful, sweet face, his lovely, rounded tummy, his perfectly formed little feet and toes. And it's at times like this that I realize what a miracle really is.

I have a little bit of a problem with organized religion. Without igniting a firestorm of indignation, let me just say that it's a problem with any group that limits access to heaven to a select few. I believe strongly in heaven. And hell. And God. I just have my own versions. And I believe in miracles. You can talk all you want about a perfect sunrise, a magnificent red rose, a gorgeous beach. But I know what a miracle really is. It is two people making another perfectly formed human being. I don't understand the whole process, really. Well, OK, I understand THAT part of the process. But eggs and zygotes and hormones and cells dividing and all that stuff is still a little bit of a mystery to me.

All I know is, I know the exact spot on Wes's side to nibble to make him shriek with laughter. I know how to snuzzle my head back and forth under his chin until he gives up and his head falls back with ringing laughter and I can blurble on his neck. And the sound of that ringing, silvery laughter? That sound that makes anyone who hears it smile involuntarily?

That, my friends, is a miracle. And nobody can tell me otherwise.

He relaxes a bit after getting his

own milk from the fridge. The boy

is a genius. I'm serious. Somebody call MENSA.