Last night, on the eve of my son J’s 12 birthday, he called me into his room. As you guys know, I’m obsessed with the fact that, as our sweet boys grow up they need and want us around less and less… I worry about the bond of Mothers and sons and struggle with the knowledge that they’ll eventually be stolen away by some hussy, I mean their future wives. (See - Moms of Boys are Jealous Shrews, for more on that.)
Let’s just say, I spend a great deal of time rocking in a corner reminiscing about reading J bedtime stories and hearing him rattle off (in one breath) all the things the Very Hungry Caterpillar ate (how he learned the days of the week) and watching him dramatically gasp for air as if it was sooo hard to talk so fast … and beam with pride, as if he hadn’t done the very same thing the night before that and before that and bef…
Needless to say, nowadays, when he calls me in to talk, I drop everything and run to his door.
Then I collect myself, take a deep breath and enter slowly and nonchalantly, as if I was passing by anyway. Continue reading