Please Don't Grow So Fast

Liam J. First day of 2nd Grade. Age 7, going on 37.

Last night while Liam and I were having a rare but welcome snuggle on the couch (he's now "too old" to snuggle) he told me, "I decided I am going to save up all of my money." I naturally asked him, "What are you saving your money to buy?" He replied, "I've been thinking and I decided I will save up my money now so when I graduate from college and get married, I'll be able to buy a house right away." I was a bit shocked by his answer, but I know that he is a planner. He already has his life all mapped out.

I asked him, "So who is the lucky person you are going to marry?" He looked at me, annoyed. "I thought we weren't going to talk about that..." (referring to a certain crush he has on a certain adorable, future scientist in his class named "Caitlin"). I said "I am not trying to embarrass you. Your future wife could be anybody. I was just wondering, since you seem so concerned about buying a house and everything, if you had someone picked out already??"  Still clearly annoyed and a bit disgusted by my apparent cluelessness, he said "Mo-o-o-o-o-o-m! Chances are the person I marry I don't even KNOW yet. They are probably someone I'll meet in college!" DUH!

It's moments like this that I sincerely want to cry. He is growing so fast. He has always been growing so fast. He is an old soul and it is painfully clear to us (more so everyday), that he is just biding his time until he can get his life going. We are merely a temporary launch pad. I see it more and more everyday. He is getting more serious. More introspective. More independent. He is pulling away and dodging my hugs and Heaven forbid, my kisses! "Mom!! Please don't kiss me! You may give me a hug, but no kisses." Sigh. It really is enough to break a Mama's heart.

I knew this would happen and I know it is part of their healthy development. Independence is good. It wouldn't be good if he needed and wanted me 24/7. But it still makes me really, really sad. While I love having conversations with the intelligent, sensitive boy he is growing up to be, I would be lying if I said I didn't miss the little, lovable toddler who actually needed me. If only for a little while.

Liam J. Age 2 and forever ago.

I Miss Writing

I have been negligent. Again. I have purposefully been shutting down and tuning out at night and on the weekends. I have intentionally kept myself away from all things creative and I am not exactly sure why. I have the chance to work on some illustrations for a (nonpaying) freelance project but I just can't seem to bring myself to do it. Or even care. I have spent the extra time purposefully doing anything BUT creative endeavors. I resigned myself to the fact that I work at a job I don't love, but tolerate, and that is good enough for right now. It is not creative and the company seems rooted in 1985, but the pay and benefits are good and the people are friendly. And up until a few days ago, I have been totally fine with ignoring that gnawing in my gut. The gnawing that says "something is missing."

But yesterday when I was out running an idea popped into my head for a kid's book. (Yes, yet another children's book.). The feeling was so strong and overpowering that had I the opportunity, I would have run home and started to write and draw it out right then and there. I feel like it is a sign--whether a sign from God or my dying creative self--I feel like it is a sign to try again. Or at least entertain the idea as more than a passing whim.

So last night after the boys went to bed I started to type out some ideas for my story. I continued again tonight and as I typed I realized that I have really missed writing. I don't claim to be any good at it, but I do enjoy it. I always felt like I was never a great artist OR a great writer--that somehow, I needed them both to complete a thought. When I was in college and (briefly) minoring in creative writing, I remember telling the professor "Sometimes when I paint, I struggle because I see the painting as words in my head. And sometimes when I write I struggle, because I see the story as pictures that I can't explain with words." I still feel that way.

I am here to tell you that there is a very real possibility this little story will never see the light of day. More then likely it won't, actually. But for right now, it is a little life preserver that is getting me through the drudgery at work. And maybe because this is a no-pressure endeavor, it might actually have a chance of survival.

Time will tell.

He's a Lover.

 

 

 

 

 

You gotta love a women in uniform. Especially one who drives an ambulance.

Sawyer is in love.

Sawyer is ALWAYS in love.

In the past week he has asked the director at the Preschool to be his girlfriend. He has fallen head over heels for a paramedic AND he has proposed to his teacher. This is just what I am aware of. Who knows how many other proposals and dates and infatuations I am not privy to. A lot of hearts can be won in the course of an 8 hour school day.

When Sawyer first saw Maggie, the paramedic, it was love at first sight. He saw her get out of the ambulance and it was GAME OVER. He walked up to her transfixed. He stood very closely to her then suddenly took her hand. He told me to leave them alone and to "not stand so close to them." He became increasingly annoyed with my presence when she was around. Mom WHO? I was no longer "Lovey Mommy!" but instead, "she who comes between Sawyer and Maggie." I honestly didn't think I'd have that role until he at least entered high school.

When Maggie got called out on an emergency, Sawyer was devastated. He cried for many minutes and could not understand why she had to leave. I explained to him that someone was sick and had an emergency, and Maggie needed to help them. "How come you never called the paramedics when I had pink eye??!!!!" He was indignant. His heart was crushed.

He is a charmer. We see how he has manipulatively learned how to smile a very dimpled grin to get what he wants. He knows that if he looks at you with those big blue eyes, hearts will melt and cookies will appear. He has mastered the art of the flirty gaze.

Women of the future (and not-so distant future), consider yourselves warned.

Snuggle Bunny

Sawyer is a snuggle-er. It is quite possibly one of his favorite things to do. Back in the days when I didn't have to be out of the house before the boys woke up, Beanie and I would spend the first part of our mornings snuggling. He would wake up, come running into our room then climb into bed beside me, quite often waking me up from a coma-like sleep. Over time I grew to habitually wake early enough to wait for him to crawl into bed beside me and snuggle in close. I would wait to hear the door open and then see that blonde head come bouncing across the floor.

But lately due to a very heavy project load and an equally short deadline, I have to be up early and out of the house before the boys (and most of the civilized world) are up and about. Most weekdays I don't get to see them until I pick them up in the early evening. And I *hate* it. I totally loathe it. It makes my day start off-kilter and I wander around feeling like I have forgotten to do something important.

This past Saturday, Beanie popped into our room bright and early and said "Mommy!!! It's the weekend! You don't have to go to work and I don't have to go to school! We can SNUGGLE!!!!" And so we did. Liam (who is not normally prone to fits of snuggling) joined us a few minutes later and the three of laid there for a half hour chatting and giggling. (Daddy was already up and about).  I think Liam (aka Mr. Independent) might even admit that he misses seeing his Mom in the mornings, but not nearly as much as his mom misses seeing him.

At first Sawyer would cry when he woke up and I wasn't here. He would sit on the floor by the empty bed and cry. But sadly now, he is used to me being gone in the mornings (although he admitted to Grandma he tries to wake up early so he can see me before I go). So I try to make a game of it. I leave them a note and a quick drawing each morning so they have something to let them know I was thinking of them. Right now they seem to enjoy it. It's not much, but it is something.

Are there times when I would like to have the opportunity to sleep in past 6:30 on the weekends? Sure. But would I trade my early morning snuggles and my giggly little boy conversations about silly dreams, breakfast cereal and "gross things animals eat"? Not a chance.

Sawyer values the importance of quality Snuggle Time. Even at 5:30 at night.

Once there was a tree...

Last night, I read the boys one of my favorite books, "The Giving Tree", by Shell Silverstein. If you are not familiar with the book, it is the story of a boy and a tree. The book starts with the young boy being inseparable from the tree, but as time goes by, the boy outgrows the tree and only comes back to visit her when he wants something. The tree, although saddened by the boy's absence, finds great joy in making him happy by giving all that she can to insure his happiness–even at the expense of her own well being.

After the story, Liam asked me "Mom, what do you think that book means?"

I told him that I thought it was an analogy of being a parent. No matter how much time goes by, we will love our children unconditionally and give them anything we can in order to help them out and make them happy.

I finished tucking each boy in and Liam looked at me and said , "I think it means something different. I think, the book is trying to tell us that just when we think we have given all we can, we can always find a way to give more."

(Have I mentioned how smart my children are?)

In all of the years I have been reading that story, I have never, ever once thought of it from that perspective. I always read it and thought "look how much she gives!" and Liam read it and thought "look how much MORE she is capable of giving!" It really made me stop and think. A lot. Am I giving all that I can everyday? I know at the end of a very long day when I am tired, and cranky and confronted with all that still needs to be done, I certainly feel like I am. But have I really? Or am I merely giving out a slim ration of myself? The ration I am willing to part with?

With the beginning of this new year, I am promising to give more. And by "give more" I actually mean, be more in the present. Listen more. Laugh more. Give more of myself to the ones who really matter. The joy really is in the giving.

And the tree was happy.