You

Dear Son,

You sleep next to me as I type. I cannot help but to marvel at the simple and most complex beauty that is your face. How can it be . . . how can it be? I run my fingers along the outside of your ear . . . the edge of your cheek.

Such. Peace.

I love every single day with you. I lie here in this bed next to you many nights - feeling guilty about a tone I perhaps took with you - or that I didn't just give you enough undivided attention on any given day . . . oh - but Son - I hope you can somehow know. . . I hope I've imprinted it somewhere inside you -

the knowledge that you.... you, you, you are THE most important person in the world to me. That even when I am in a cave of exhaustion - it is in me to do more with you . . . for you.

I never want to be frustrated . . . never want to raise my voice . . . always want to be attentive and interested and have time and be fun and be creative and . . .

I will fail Son.

But I will always . . . always, always,

ALWAYS

try again.

Its just that simple.

I love you.

Happy Fall

The Standoff

Dear Son,

Ok . . . so you can't think bad of me or that i am not cleanly. Sometimes, stuff just happens.

Well . . .

Your mom is DEATHLY afraid of bugs. I mean, they drive me to nausea immediately. Not any ole bug mind you, (well, not so much anyway) but specifically the hard shell variety. They just . . . creep me out. [read: make me sick, want to throw up, shiver with convulsions, and there will be screaming.]

So - I'm washing dishes this morning. And, from the corner of my eye, I spy you, my little lovey with a large stainless steel spoon. You are amusing yourself greatly, using the spoon much like one would use a hockey stick . . . and you are swatting something across the kitchen floor.

I regard you, but dont really take note of what is actually happening. Then, (from my keen peripheral vision,) I see the "puck" come whizzing back my way.

Intrinsically, I just know.

We dont have "bugs" . . . if not for the reason that we are clean, then absolutely for previous stated reasons. I am just not taking any chances. Our house, is an arsenal.

But as I crept in for a closer inspection - my fears were confirmed. One had infiltrated the fortress . . .

There, staring up at me . . .
lying on his back . . .
legs wiggling . ..

was a CREATURE!!!

CREATURE CREATURE CREATURE ALERT!!

And, to make matters worse -there you were, headed full speed ahead toward me . . . and HIM - hockey stick in hand!

This seems like a good time to add the fact that, though utterly disturbed by such a disgusting form of life . . .

I am unable to kill them.

I just CANT.

And, its not as a result of my love for all things living [yeah, picture that] - its because i cant BARE the sound of them crunching beneath my feet.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

So, at times when I have been unfortunate to come to a stand off with one, I either
A) run
or
B) use the thickest heeled shoe I have as to pad against my foot feeling the crunch (the horror!)

Needless to say, now that I am almighty Mother, running isnt an option.

There I was . . . the battle of a lifetime. I see a ballerina slipper from across the room. It was going to have to do the job . . . I couldnt very well leave the room, for fear that little general would muster the strength to flip himself over and go for backup. - Or worse, that you'd go over and try to make nice.

The clock was ticking . . .

He was looking at me.
I was looking at him.
Ohhh . . . the drama.

And of course - there you are, looking at both of us - contemplating the right moment to make your move. The time was now.

I dont think my feet even hit the ground . . . it was simply one felt swoop of moving from one side of the room to the other, grabbing my shoe, back to the other side . . . [battle cry and all]

and . . .

annndddddddd . . .

CRUNCH!!!

But that isnt the end. Oh no. I should tell you now that in the few and far between instances I've been unfortunate enough to have to kill a creature - I have a little thing I like to do.

I just leave the shoe on top of it . . . until someone else comes along to pick the dearly departed up and move him to the trash.

Well - I proceeded to do just that. My shoe rested comfortably atop the carcass . . . and la la la la la - I went back to
my dish washing.

But oh no - of course you had another plan, and quickly moved in to assess the damage [i.e. you picked up the shoe - and was your way to picking up the remains . . . when I knew what I had to do]

So, with much dread - I grabbed 74 paper towels and scooped him up.

ARGHHH!!!!!! ICK!!! YUCKIEEEEEEEE!!!

And into the trash he went.

Immediately followed by my slipper might I add . . . which you oh so helpfully tossed in for me.

Cant blame you though . . .

It's not like I'll be wearing it again any time soon anyway.


Whew. The things we do when we are moms!!

I love you.

Discovery

Dear Son,

Today we played outside for quite some time . . . the air is cooler the days are easier and well - we just soaked in some of that fresh air. And you, my boy . . . discovered the sky. You were actually reaching for it. I was so thankful at that moment to have the camera by my side to capture such a treasure.

The things we [adults] take for granted.
Thank you for reminding me to look up.

I love you.

To Melt A Heart

You're Gonna Make Me Cry Some Day

Not Weird . . . Unique

Dear Son,

Let it never be said that you don't have your own . . . flare. We all have our little idiosyncrasies, and these things are to be welcomed, ushered in, and nurtured . . . they are, after all, part of our very personalities.

So this is the thing:

Many children have security blankets. If not that - then perhaps a special toy or stuffed animal they can't do without. They take it to bed, drag it around the house, take it to church and to the supermarket. Again, no big deal - it's a natural source of comfort for a child, and often a welcome relief for the parent.

You, my dear - [not unlike your mother might I add] - seem to have already developed a knack for the . . . hmmm . . . lets say unusual. You, sweet one - do not have a "security blanket." Nor do you have a binkie, blankie, wubbie, special friend or any of the above.

YOU?

You have a security hairdryer.

Thats right folks. You read it here first. I invite you to please for a moment imagine the looks we get from other Mommies as I stroll through Target - you in the front of the cart - purple hairdryer in tow . . . complete with large with diffuser attached to the end (cause you know Mama's hair tends to frizz.)

Yeah . . . whatever works.
Pictures to follow.

Update: So there you are - before church last Sunday . . . if you look carefully - you'll see the beloved - peeking from behind.