I am in the middle of grading first and second drafts of final essays and am not finding my family amusing at all, so I thought I would share an old story from 2005 when Younger first started his educational career . . .
Last year, at our conference with Elder’s teacher, she announced, “I have learned so much.” But with Younger we heard stories such as when his kindergarten teacher explained that the principal would take the Good Citizen to McDonald’s, Younger told her, “Now, when you said that about McDonald’s, you re-ee-eally got my attention.”
And when another kid was apparently poking him relentlessly with a pencil, Younger announced, “Now, I’ve asked him nicely to quit, but if he don’t quit pretty quick, it ain’t gonna be so nice.”
We pray that all of his teachers will have a sense of humor.
And a lot of patience.
Today, I thought I would share a story from around 2005 when Younger would have been in kindergarten . . .
Apparently, for some unknown reason, the school personnel asked the children if their fathers were in the military, which did not appear to faze Younger in the slightest. Apparently, his dad passed Younger’s test for Army material. But then the school asked about their mothers.
“And, Mom,” Younger told me, shaking his head and snickering. “I just couldn’t quite even imagine it.”
My husband thinks Younger’s a real riot.
For those who don’t know, a few months ago, we rescued two black cats. We named one Seven — a Seinfeld tribute — and one Thirteen — a tongue-in-cheek concession to the superstition of black cats being unlucky.
And, well, because Younger wanted to name them in numbers, because, you know, math.
“Mom,” Younger said the other day as he descended the stairs. “Both the cats were lying outside my door, like sphinxes, waiting for me. So either I’m the next Pharaoh king or they smell something in my room that I don’t.”
Well, as far as I know, I’m not an Egyptian princess and he’s not the next Pharaoh King, so . . .
Maybe I am a princess . . .
Elder had spring break last week.
So, I was able to check on him every morning. I knew where he was every day. And every night, he appeared at my bedside, lowering his head so I could kiss his blond curls.
And sometimes he would wander about halfway across the bedroom to leave then return to lower his head for another kiss.
He has almost finished his sophomore year of college and will be twenty-one in July. So, a little part of me always wonders if the current break is the last break he will spend at home.
Saturday night, as I was putting dinner away, he hollered, “Mom, come watch M*A*S*H with us.”
And so I tucked the last plate into the dishwasher and wandered into the living room to plop onto the sofa. He promptly sprawled across my lap, sending our border collie into spasms as she had to witness him receiving snuggles she believes belong only to her.
Then, Sunday, he piled his laundry and books back in his car, and he left.
Because he has a life he has to live. A life full of joy and sorrows and beautiful moments.
Because little boys grow into young men.
And moms have to let them.