Tuesday Before Threesday

Today, I thought I would share an old story from 2000. Elder would have been four years old . . .

Several times on Tuesday, for one reason or another, I found myself explaining to Elder that it was Tuesday — as opposed to another day in the week, such as Sunday.  On Tuesday, Mommy worked and he went to the babysitter.

That night, while we were eating dinner, he told me, “Mom, tomorrow is Threesday and on Threesday, you don’t have to work.”

Well, he’s kind of right.

I’ve never worked a Threesday in my life.

In My Dreams

I have a few weeks between semesters, so I have been power washing the house, cleaning windows, waterproofing the deck, scrubbing tile, and so on and so forth. About 2:00 yesterday afternoon, I collapsed on the sofa for a nap before tackling my laundry room.

Now and then, I roused for a moment or two as Elder paced through the house, a video playing on his cell phone, as usual. But at one point I blinked awake and realized he was listening to a math lecture.

He is on summer break.

And he was watching math.

Unless I was dreaming.

Except it was math.

So, you know, that would have been a scary, scary nightmare.

What Have We Learned Today

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.

Moments

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.

 

 

The Not-Quite-So-Introvert

Younger is an introvert. Well, he is now. But when he was six-years-old, he was the not-quite-so-introvert . . .

To give the boys an extra half hour of sleep in the morning, I have been driving them to school.  Unfortunately, I lose a half hour of sleep and am usually shoving kids and backpacks into the car before leaving skid marks on our gravel drive.  Then I have to wait patiently behind a line of cars before I reach the curb in front of the upper elementary and tell Elder, “I love you, have a good day, I’ll see you tonight.  Elder, get outta the car, I gotta go.”  And then it is just me and Younger as we rush back onto the highway.

Now, the other day, as I slowed, grumbling, to a stop at a light, I heard Younger say, “Well, hello, people who hang up their clothes.”

Curious and a bit confused, I spun my head towards him, finding him waving at the three women in the car in the lane beside us, one of them leaning around a jacket hanging in the window.  Smiling, I turned back to watch the light.  And then I heard the whir of Younger’s window.  Alarmed, I spun back towards him, noticing that the woman in the car was also lowering her window.

“Hello,” she greeted Younger.

“Hi,” he responded.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Good,” he replied.

Apparently, to Younger, there is nothing strange in holding a conversation with complete strangers at a red light in thirty-degree weather.  As soon as the light turned green, I hit the gas, leaving the people “who hang up their clothes” rocking in my wake.

“Younger,” I chided.  “You can’t talk to strangers on the highway.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because they might take it as an invitation to follow us home.”

“They seemed nice,” he assured me.

“Yes, but some people wouldn’t be nice.”

“Oh, there’s three of us.  We can take ‘em.”

The “three of us” is me, Elder and Younger and I’m pretty puny.

And I think maybe I don’t wanna take ‘em.

 

 

 

As Bad as Daddy

Today, I thought I would share a story from 2001 when Elder would have been five years old . . .

The other day, I wasn’t feeling particularly well. So, I camped out on the sofa with a blanket, a book and the TV remote. Now, I never watch real television. Usually, I concede to the boys when they want to watch cartoons or to my husband when he wants to channel surf. So, even as ill as I was, I had to stamp out the little insurrection that erupted when I turned the channel to Law and Order, otherwise titled “Mommy’s Show.”

I overruled Elder and Scooby Doo with relative ease. Then Steve sank onto the sofa beside me and mentioned with a woebegone look, “I wanted to watch S-I-M-P-S-O-N-S.”

My mouth tightening with frustration, I told him, “You’re as bad as Elder.”

Elder, who had been sitting between us, heard our exchange, his head popping up. “I am not either as bad as my Daddy.”

After a moment’s thought, I conceded the point to Elder. After all, it had been quite an insult to my five-year-old.

A Night in the Life

I cannot connect my laptop to the Internet today, so I am writing this post on my phone. That’s my excuse for the errors. I usually have no excuse to offer, but today I do.

Tonight I will give you a peek at a usual night in the Grown Up household . . .

My husband is stressed from his day at work and has decided to complete a puzzle to “release his frustration.” And raising mine as the sorted piles consume every corner of my table. 

Elder’s best friend told him he couldn’t write a poem on nature. So, now, he is researching poetry. He doesn’t like poetry. He likes losing a challenge even less apparently.

Younger is using his Jedi mind tricks to convince me I do not want my portion of the bread with dinner. Even Obi-Wan Kanobi was not that talented. This is the bread that I want with my dinner.

And I am listening to all the chaos with quiet contentment.

I am blessed.