I skipped a meeting.
Because the purple weeds were blooming. And I’ve been waiting for them to bloom for weeks.
Because it was still 70 degrees at seven o’clock at night. Because I had bought a blouse perfect for the purple weeds. Because I needed to get dressed for the first time in a week. And put makeup on. And my bracelets. And make sure my kiddo knew his mom was still his apparel loving mom.
It’s been an interesting couple weeks. My son had an abscessed tooth and was up for nights on end. Sleeping on the couch. Tear stained. In my arms. Begging me to make it stop. Falling asleep with his fingers clinging to mine, like he used to.
And there is nothing like wanting to make it just stop. Make it better. Take that pain on yourself. Because that would hurt both of you less. You feel that the from the day they are born.
I, on the other hand, a few days later, ended up with a stomach bug worse than salmonella. (which some of you might remember I had several years back.) I was a bit out of commission. At one point in time I heard myself yell through the house “where are my sweatpants?????!!!!” I was told they were in the wash, in which my reaction was to yell “what the hell am I going to wear!!!!!” It was one of my most proud moments in life.
And then I drug myself off the couch. I bought a new blouse. Put some makeup on. And hung out in a field of purple flowers with my kid, while his school mates watched and hollered at us. (Because guess what, this little field is right in the middle of town.) And he was totally cool with it. Because that’s how he is. Because he likes to make me happy. And he loves what I do for a job and is proud of it.
I don’t document his every move as I used to. That happens as he gets older. He’s busier. All over the place. Doing this and that. Interested in everything. I tag along and cheer him on most of the time, but let him go a lot of the time as well. He’s a boy. He likes boy things. Things I want him to be able to do without me. I need him to know that it’s ok that he can do things without me.
But then there is us.
He’s my son.
I love saying that.
He’s my son.
I’m so lucky to be able to say that about another person.
One that thinks like I do. Acts like I do. Is stubborn like me. Hard headed like me. Has his own way like I do. Dresses like I do. Has an eyebrow lift as an answer to a question. I’ve learned I’m the mom that yells at the top of her lungs at sporting events. That he will look to me for approval at those events and wink at me or give me an eyebrow lift, our own language. I also support him in the shadows, ways he doesn’t know I’m there, because I want him to know that I don’t have to always be present to be supportive. He’s kind. He’s smart. He’s dashing. He’s definitely 10 and pushes buttons and pushes back. And even though that drives me crazy….. I love that too. We’re tight, he and I. We know how to maneuver this world. And sometimes this world is tough, but we can always figure it out. Watching him get older is so difficult and rewarding at the same time.
He’s mine.
My son.
Not everybody gets to say things like that. And I’m so lucky that I do.
A teacher at his school told me today that not all kids have that mom voice in their head. You know that one that keeps you in check.
She said…. “Yours has that voice. I can tell. That mom voice. The one that he will always hear, no matter if you’re around or not, he will hear it. I used to think that was a bad thing. But I don’t anymore. It’s good he hears your voice. So many kids don’t.”
So as he gets older. And as he ventures out and does more and more “boy” things. Things that I want him to be able to do without me…..that voice will always be with him I hope.
