The Best Day

Max and I had the best day. We got up in the morning and snuggled on the sofa while we watched a couple of cartoons. Then we played with some playdough, using the pasta roller to flatten it. We went outside, onto the front porch, next and watered the garden. Max accidentally sprayed himself in the face which made us both laugh. Then we ate some leftover pizza for breakfast.

In the afternoon we packed up the car and headed for the beach. We made sandcastles and played on the swings. Max yelled out "I SANDCASTLE!!" and "I SWINGING!!" We surrounded our castles with army men and when we were done, we squashed them to the ground. We sang our ABC's and made up some songs in the car, on the way home. We stopped for dinner at Macaroni Grill, where we drew all the animals we could think of on the paper tablecloth. We ate spaghetti noodles, one by one, letting them drop into our mouths and sucking them the rest of the way in.

When we got home, we were so tired from our long day, that we both just laid down on the bed and fell asleep, snuggled like two little bears.

Every day that I spend with Max is the best day. I am grateful to my husband for providing me the opportunity to spend my days this way. This is the greatest gift of my life.

What Kind of Mother Am I?

I was talking to one of my "mommy" friends recently, who was telling me about the progress she had made in regards to bedtime with her daughter. It seems that she found a really helpful book, that helped to wean her daughter from needing to be rocked to sleep.

Later that night, while watching Max toss and turn, before finally falling asleep...in the bed that we all share, I realized how long it had been since I'd been able to rock him to sleep. And I got a knot in the pit of my stomache. A lump in my throat. And I longed for the days when I could rock him to sleep. I would rock that kid to sleep until he turned 15, if he would have it.

So today, I sat in the rocker (which is in our office). I tried to entice Max to joining me, but he was excited to sit at the chair, at the desk, which is normally off limits to him, since that is the chair that faces the computer. Well, I put a Mickey Mouse learning DVD in for him and let him have at it. He was more able to use the "mouse," which is actually a trackball, than I've seen so far. He had a blast. I sat and rocked and watched him for about 45 minutes.

Right now, as I write this, he is sleeping. I'm going to move the rocker back into our bedroom tomorrow. I'm going to see if I can rock him to sleep some night soon. I wonder what kind of a mother I am, trying to recapture the kind of behavior that other moms mark their success in ending.

There are Limits

Yes, there are limits to just how far one will go, as a parent, to console and comfort one's dear, sweet child. I have certainly reached mine.

I should, first, mention that Max does not care for wearing clothing these days. He will inevitably take off whatever he is wearing, most particularly his diaper. Since we are in the throws of potty-training and it's summer, it's really no big deal. Until today.

Max fell onto one of his toys and started crying. He crawled up onto the sofa, where I was sitting, as I asked him where he was hurt. While he proceeded to get onto his hands and knees, facing away from me, he told me "here" as he pointed to his bottom. I said "poor baby" and gave a gentle pat on the rump. Again, he pointed and with more urgency in his voice he said "HERE!" I asked "what do you want me to do?," as I sit there with his lil' pooper staring right at me. He says "KISS IT!"

This was one of those moments when I wished my husband had been there with me. I flashed on the expression that would have been on his face. I'm sure the expression on my own face was worthy of a Kodak moment.

All I could do was make a kissing sound and purse my fingers together and give a little pat with them. No questions were asked. Max popped right back up, healed of his injury, as only a mommy's (or daddy's) kiss can do. I had reached my limit. Kissing boo-boos is my job, my pleasure even...just not there.

I am the Lucky One

Down by the lake, in your three year old rock kitchen,

you made me breakfast; scrambled eggs, toast, sausage.
We both cup hot coffee in our hands,
taking imaginary sips.
I am the lucky one.

Hide and seek with the spiders, bread for ducks.
We watch the lapping water,
unnoticed, from between our crevassed hiding places,
while others pass quickly by on their way to "real" jobs.
I am the lucky one.

Autumn, the time of your birth, reminds me,

"This day shall not be your burden, but your delight."

I don't know where I'm going

or where I'll be when you're grown, but right now,

I am the lucky one.

We go to the city; stop for a treat...chips and slurpies.

Mine go down quickly, thoughtlessly,

while I delight in your company.

Salty fingers and red mouth, you're in no hurry.

Shoppers smile at your good-natured ways.

I am the lucky one.

A day of errands, I need a book.
No one notices, amused, as I do,
how you sit in the window ledge, warmed by the sun
among much older readers in the bookseller's shop.
Your face holds the same serious expression as theirs
while you read a ghostly tale, upside down.
I am the lucky one.

Errands finished, we're back outside.

Silently, we bend forward.

Watching the birds among the rose bushes,

you learn about rose hips, thorns,

and bird's preferences for crumbs

rather than bagel chunks.

Hurried passersby pause, your joy in the ordinary,

contagious, as you balance on stone benches.

I am the lucky one.

The day is done. I tiptoe to your room.

Tucking you in, I kiss your sleeping face
and whisper thanks for the day.
To my own bed I trod, feeling gratitude to God
and wondering why
I am the lucky one.

by Michelle Tobin