About a boy

There are so many things I want to write about, ideas waiting in my mind like little blue robin eggs, waiting for me to articulate them into birds with wings to fly. I am still learning how to mange my time as a stay at home mother, learning to accept that time spent on a swing set or putting train sets together counts as an accomplishment for the day; learning that social media can both connect and disconnect me from what matters most; learning how to strike a balance between finishing chores and nurturing my children appropriately and effectively.

It seems that when I do finally sit down to write, the first initial sentences tumble out easily and then I'm stymied, which turns into distraction and then, often, sleep. Those unfinished drafts will sit a little longer, I suppose, in my files. Today I want to write about my boy.

Even as I begin to do so, I find I hesitate, bound by the worry that by sharing it over a blog makes the moment or my feelings more inauthentic. The burden for such pressure lies solely on my shoulders, on my desire to be honest yet understood. I believe, though, however haltingly I may be able to express my thoughts, they begin in my heart, which at its core is authentic and true (as is the case, I believe for all of us).

Oh, my boy.

He doesn't feel well today. Sometimes when Asher doesn't feel well, my first inclination is to run and duck for cover, for hell hath no fury like that boy when he is sick. Today is different though. Yes, he is a little more inclined to cry than usual, but mostly he just wants to be held. He's one terrific snuggle bug, and I am always happy to comply to his request asked with urgent arms outstretched, "Mom! Mom! Hold! Hold!" Today, that request has been almost nonstop.

As a result, my teeth aren't brushed, my clothes aren't clean, and my hair is in yet another one of my all-too-familiar hastily arranged ponytails. The dishes aren't done and the laundry is halfway folded. But I have held him, and today I have been glad about it.

After getting Sissy (his name for his older sister) on the bus, I gathered him up in my arms, along with his favorite giant bear and his blankie and ever present binkie (oh, how will we ever get rid of that thing?) and took him to the big rocking chair in his room. He snuggled in to me, and we read an ABC book together. I could feel his soft, flax-like hair tickling under my chin. His little hands, still dimpled at the knuckles, pointed out the letters and objects he recognized.

Then he noticed Lightning McQueen and Mater on his toy shelf. "Mom! Doo-da. Need doo-da. Need Ka-chow."  I love his names for those two beloved Disney characters. I love how he held them tightly in his hands and then burrowed his body as close as he could to mine.

I finished the book, turned out the light, and held him close. In a moment he fell asleep in my arms. I lingered, holding him as tightly as I could, hearing his smooth breath coming in and out as the rocking chair creaked and glided in motion.

This little moment. I want to remember it. It was good and it was sweet. I seem to understand now when people tell me to appreciate this time of my life--it is moments like these that they themselves long for, for the moment is fleeting and the time is brief that I can hold all of my boy so close in my arms.

So I will hold him as long as I can.