Remember These Things

Remember: Mother Son Dance 2016

Remember how neither boy brought home their permission slips until you asked them about the papers. Remember how they lied. Remember how you informed them that their classmates came home with them, so it would seem odd if they were the only ones without them. Remember how they came home the next day.

Remember how their eyes lit up when they found the new Superman shirts laid out on their beds.

Remember how excited they were at dinner with their friends.

Remember how they posed for pictures, without complaint. Even if maybe you had to offer a small threat. Details.

Remember how they beat each other with balloons. Remember how you grabbed some too, and beat them with balloons. Remember how your oldest son declared, “My mom is the coolest ever.” Hold that one close.

Remember how they all ran around like crazed children, free and funny. Remember how we, the moms, stood around and let them do their thing, let them have their one wild night. Remember how they ignored the “Electric Slide” but went crazy over the Whip/Nae Nae by Silento. Remember what songs made you go crazy when you were ten. Eight. Younger. Older

Remember the smiles from other moms, just as happy to be present with their young boys too. Remember the way pretense fell off and we all just did our thing.

Especially…

Remember pulling your oldest son out from behind Hulk and forcing him to dance to “I Do (Cherish You)” by 98 Degrees because, first off, 98 Degrees. Secondly, that’s a good wailing song and if you’re going to slow dance with your son and wail a song into his face, that’s a good one. Third, it’s the first Mother Son Dance your sons’ elementary school has held, and it’s his last. So get those slow dances in and remember them forever. The next time you slow dance to any song with this child might very well be at his own wedding, should he choose to get married, so hold this one real tight, mama. Cherish it, to be punny.

Remember: Mother Son Dance 2016
I mean, maybe if he gets married and chooses to have a mother-son dance, he could, I dunno, SMILE? Maybe.

Remember that even though it was loud and chaotic, it was still a lot of fun. Hold that feeling of gratefulness for one little night of fun with your two little boys and breathe it in when the days and nights feel a little bit longer, a little bit harder, more chaotic, maybe quieter.

Remember tucking them in and telling them you had so much fun.

“I did, too, Mommy. Thank you.”

You’re welcome.

 

The Color Run - Happiest 5k Run

Top of His Head

Top of His Head
Just an ordinary September day.

“Daddy, you have hairy legs.”
“Do you think I should shave them like mommy?”
“WHAT?! What do you mean shave?”
“Do you think my legs are naturally hair-free?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“We need to re-read the puberty books.”

“I don’t have the puberty.”
“You didn’t catch it yet?”
“No.”

My husband makes a bicep muscle.

“Daddy, you have a big muscle.”
“Hey! I have a muscle too!”

I make an arm muscle.

“Barely.”

LittleBrother says what he thinks, especially if he thinks he can get a laugh or a rise out of someone. He is a jokester. He loves a laugh. There’s always a glint in his eye.

Call it mischievous. Call it trouble. Call it what you will.

I asked his teacher last year if he joked too much in class. She said no, and then corrected herself.

“He makes jokes sometimes, but most of the kids don’t get them. They’re above their heads.”

Maybe it’s my fault for buying Knock Knock joke books and gross joke books and joke books in general. Or for possessing a sarcastic gene. Or because I can’t help but laugh when he says, “Guess what? Chicken butt.” Because that’s just funny, you guys.

But I like it.

I like laughing with him. I like laughing with my whole family. It’s especially funny when LittleBrother laughs too hard and gets this hiccups. It happens at least once per day—which only makes him laugh harder, which makes us laugh harder, which makes him laugh harder. Rinse, repeat.

As much as he likes to joke, to go for the punch line, he also tells you what he’s thinking. I hear “I love you” and “you’re beautiful” no less than 20 times per day. He will tell me about his school day in great detail, the good and the not-so-good.

He’s a sensitive soul, too, with a big heart. So you know when his feelings get hurt. If not by the tears in his eyes, by the quick and sharp tongue that he possibly also inherited from me. I’ve learned to rein mine in just a little bit. I know to take a few breaths before I speak when someone pushes my buttons or makes me feel less than in some way. I’m not saying I never spout off without thinking, but I’ve got a few decades on the kid. He will tell you what he thinks, what he feels, immediately—especially if you’re his brother.

That’s probably better than letting it sit and fester and never sticking up for yourself. Ahem. I may also find myself guilty of that at times. I’m a mess of a human being.

All this is to say that our youngest son brings a special kind of joy to our lives. It’s an honest, in your face, make you laugh, make you think, make you love kind of joy, and we feel so lucky to have him as part of our family.