July 2, 2011 ~ Day 204 Why Did The Chicken Eat Two Jelly Beans?

I woke this morning to an eerily silent home.

While I did hear little voices in the background, they were neither laughing nor screeching as usual. "Daddy, we're awake," they called politely. "Mommy, we're awake. Please open the baby gate. We want to get out."

"Why are our kids so mellow this morning? Why are they asking us to open their gate?" I wondered dully... and then remembered.

Our eldest son ~ the usual opener of gates ~ was not at home in our house with us. Instead, he'd spent the night alone with my mother at her home twenty minutes away.

Where there should be three - playing, fussing, fighting and scampering - there were only two.

A dark, ugly little worry appeared in my gut and gnawed away at my conscience, as I wondered whether my son had slept well... whether he'd been frightened... whether he would be calmer today.

Turning to my husband I groaned. "Did we do the right thing?"

I still couldn't believe we'd banished him to grandma's house, despite the gravity of his repeated actions. How clearly I remembered pronouncing adamantly (and self-righteously) to my husband years before when our son was a baby, "I would *never* send my child away! I don't UNDERSTAND parents who do that kind of thing!"

Funny how life gives you a little taste of the things you've judged others for doing. As it turns out, the view looks a little different from the trenches.

"Don't worry about our oldest child," my husband assured me. "He's fine."

Yet our house was too quiet, too calm. His absence left a gaping hole in the day.

* * * * * * *

Not long after, the telephone rang.

"Hi dear, it's Mom."

"How are you? How's our little guy?"

"He was a perfect angel. He slept through the night without a single peep, woke and dressed himself this morning without coming to wake me up, and I found him downstairs quietly playing with blocks. He let me sleep in."

"Wow, that's so good to hear," I responded. "I'll be over to get him as soon as I've bathed his brother and sister.

"Great. I'll go ahead and make him a nice breakfast now."

I hurried... and once we were bundled into the car and on our way, I tried to breathe deeply.

"He slept well. He's eating. These things put together mean that the entire experience can't have been that bad for him. Maybe he'll even be happy to see us."

Yet when we arrived, I could tell right away that my son was NOT calm or a happy camper. He made funny faces at us. His voice was shrill. He raced after his little brother in a slightly crazy fashion. He was a little *too* boisterous... a little *too* buoyant.

For lack of a more descriptive, more appropriate word - my kid was clearly a bit slap happy.

I clenched my jaw, steeling myself for his inevitable emotional crash.

It came about an hour after pickup, when we were at the park. "Come on guys," I called out. "Your sister is getting tired. Let's go look at the boats in the harbor."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he screamed. "I don't WANT to go look at boats. I don't LIKE boats."

It didn't take much genius to know that the meltdown had commenced.

"You know," I responded. "I'm sorry you don't like boats but we DO need to leave the park and go home now."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Ignoring the intensity of his yelling, I lifted his little sister up and carried her toward the parking lot with my younger son following fairly closely by my heels. (The younger guy was a tad punchy and reactive too, thanks mainly to the influence of his excitable brother... so it made for quite a chorus of cries.)

My children resembled frantic, angry Christmas carolers as they screeched their way along the side of the tennis courts.

* * * * * * *

By the time we arrived at home, twenty exhausting minutes later, I had only one mission: Get these children fed, get the baby to bed.

I began to cook macaroni and cheese, my eldest son's favorite, ignoring to the best of my ability the loud and tempestuous shouts of my children in the back yard. "If I can just get their tummies full," I reasoned, "they may chill out a little... and even if they don't, it will give me time to think calmly and non-reactively."

Within about forty minutes, I'd managed to feed both of my macaroni-lovers and put the little one down for her nap. My cheese-hating child, the younger boy, had been given a bowl of tomato soup which he promptly used as a swimming pool for a Thomas the Tank Engine tractor toy, carefully lifting and hauling loads of tomato soup which he then deposited on the table... forming a lovely, if wasteful, tomato pool.

In short, he refused to eat.

Soon then, he too was tucked into bed and ready for a nap.

Which left us there - just me and my older son.
In the kitchen, eating tomato soup and macaroni.
Staring each other down.

"You know Mom," he announced in a pristinely clear voice. "My brother wouldn't eat this tomato soup but *I* think it is dee-licious. I really love it."

"That's great honey."

"I mean, I really like this soup Mom. My brother didn't eat it. He played with his food. But I didn't. I didn't play with my food. I think it tastes SO good."

"Uh-hum..." I murmured, figuring out exactly where he was headed with his commentary.

"He isn't really a good eater," my son added. "You know, my brother is really picky."

"I see."

"But I'm not picky. I eat everything! I am a good eater."

"Yes."


I looked at my son, closely. He sat tall and straight backed at the kids table, too big for his miniature chair (yet unwilling to give it up, unwilling to admit that he has outgrown the table that fits his younger brother and sister). He was eying me fervently, as though willing me to catch his drift... WILLING me to affirm to him that HE was the better son. The superior child.

His anguish and ardent desire were almost palpable.

This boy child, this little man - made in my image and so sensitive just like me... I probably understand him better than either of the other children. I know his emotions, his hopes. His fears.

"What do I say to this?" I wondered silently. "How do I assure him?"

Suddenly, it seemed clear that I needed to tackle the subject head-on.


"Why are you mean to your brother?"

"Because he bothers me."

"Why does he bother you?"

"Because he whines and he always wants things his way, and he doesn't play my way."

"Do you like your brother?"

"Yes."

"Then why do you hit him?"

"My brain gets upset. My brain gets so frustrated."

"You know how to control that though. You have never hit or hurt ANY other child except your brother, and maybe once or twice, your sister. So why don't you control it with him?"

Silence.

"Do you think that we had your brother to replace you?"

"Yes." He stared at me fiercely.

"Why do you think that?"

Silence.

"Do you know that your dad and I love you?"

"Yes."

"Do you love yourself?"

"No."

"You don't love yourself, honey? Why not?"

"Because. My brother is like me but he is a very nice boy. I am a bad boy."

"No, that is NOT true!" I emphasized. "You are BOTH nice boys. You ARE a nice boy. Sometimes you make poor choices, but you are always a nice boy."

"No, I am a bad boy."

"Well, maybe you want to be bad. But I know you - and you're not."

Silence.

"Do you think that I love your brother more than I love you?"

"Yes."

"Why do you think that?"

"You are nice to him. You get mad at me."

"Do I get mad at you all the time? Or only when you've hurt your brother or sister?"

(Mumbling) "When I've hurt somebody."

"So does that mean I love them more than you?"

"No."

"I love you, your brother and your sister all the same. I love you differently from each other, because you are all very different kinds of people. But I love you the same amount."

"THAT'S WHY!" he burst out.
"THAT'S WHY I DO IT. THAT'S THE REASON."

"That's why you hit your brother? You mean you hurt him because you think I love him more?"

"YES."

"Oh honey. Don't you know how much I love you? I do so much for you, every day. I tell you so often how much you mean to me.

It's just that my job is to protect my kids. So if one of my kids hurts another one of my kids, I care for the hurt kid. If your brother was hurting YOU, *he* would be the one in trouble - not you."

He sat silently, looking away.

"Don't you remember all the good times we've spent together? Can you remember back far enough to before your brother was born, when it was just you and me? We had six good months of doing everything together. We were really close back then."

"I remember!" he cried. "I MISS IT."

"Well," I asked. "What do you miss specifically?"

"I miss doing things with just YOU. Nobody else. No brother. No sister. Just you."

"Do you want to do that kind of stuff again?"

"Yes."

"Like a mommy-son date?"

"Yes."

"And you think you can manage to be nicer to your brother if you have more of my attention just for you?"

"YES."

"So, let's do it. Let's have a weekly date - just you and me." Wracking my brain, I tried to think of when I could fit a few hours of quality time with my son that wouldn't get messed up with tutoring jobs or other family obligations.

"How about Saturday nights?" I asked. "Would you like to have dates with me on Saturday nights?"

"Yes!"

I mulled it over in my head. "You know," I added, "That makes a lot of sense. When your Dad and I go out, it's usually on a Sunday or Monday night.

Your little brother would love to have more time alone with just his daddy. They hardly ever spend time together without you or me... Why don't we have a weekly date where you and Mommy go out, your brother and your Daddy have their own special time, and we trade off who takes the baby girl?"

My son looked at me as though someone had just pulled the lid off of Heaven and let him look inside.

"I would love that Mommy. I want to have a date with you!"

"Why don't we start tonight?" I smiled. "I'll be home from tutoring by 6pm. Do you want to do something special with me when I get back?"

"Can we go somewhere?"

"Sure. Why don't you think about what you'd like to do and you can tell me about it when I finish tutoring?"

"Okay." He smiled and stood, unprompted, not only calm but actually sparkly and a bit bouncy. "I'm going to go take my nap now Mom. I'll see you tonight for our date."

As I watched him retreat toward the back of the house, I wondered in disbelief if it could really be THIS simple. Could I really make him THAT happy and calm, just by paying focused attention to him? Just by lavishing my attention squarely upon him?

* * * * * * *

Four hours later found me driving in our truck with my son strapped securely into the extra-cab back seat. "Where are we heading?"

"I want Mexican Food. Well, or Chinese Food. Actually, a hamburger would be great too."

"Well, there are three pretty good hamburger places just down the street from our house in the tourist section of town. Do you want to check those ones out?"

"YES!" he cheered.

We drove toward dinner.

"You know what I was thinking, Mom? I was thinking we should go DO something. We should go SOMEWHERE."

"Oh yeah? Where were you thinking of?"

"Well, like the PARK for example. We could go to the park!"

Not by coincidence, we happened to be driving past a very nice local park. Flicking on my turn signal without warning, I pulled suddenly into a space right in front of the park fence.

"Okay. Done." I smiled. "Let's go to the park."

"Really? YES!!!"

My son climbed out of the truck and stood next to me. "Will you tie my sweatshirt around my waist for me?"

"Sure, or I can just hold it for you."

"No, Mom. I want you to have your hands free so you can PLAY with me!"

"You mean like climb jungle gyms with you?"

"Yes!"

"Wow," I nodded. "I can't remember the last time I actually played and had fun at a park. I've been so busy watching you and your brother and sister."

"I want you to play with me tonight."

"Okay then, let's go play!"

For the better part of thirty minutes, we played. My son raced me up the play structure ladders, instructed me to go down twisting slides, had me climb the monkey bars. "This is how kids have fun," he encouraged me. I pushed him in the tire swing, we jumped on the flexible bridge.

There were no other children at the park at nearly 7pm on a Saturday night - just a bunch of adult guys playing pickup basketball. We had the run of the area ourselves.

"Do you want to go and play on the toddler play gym?" he asked. "I love that one too."

"Sure, why not? As long as I don't break any of the equipment because I am so heavy."

We walked across the park to the two year old area, with its red fire truck and two story wooden house. "Climb up here with me, Mom!" he called.

"Okay," I replied and crawled carefully up the tiny ladder. "Wow, you guys have a nice view up here." From his side I could see the Sun setting over the ocean.

"Yeah," he agreed - "And do you want to know what is really cool Mom?"

"What's that, honey?"

"Check this out." He led me over toward a strange looking hole in the side of the playhouse, a hole which opened onto a sort of megaphone. "If you talk into this thing, they can hear your voice all over the park!"

"Really?" I smiled, having heard he and his brother project their voices through this megaphone-like contraption on many, many occasions. "That's SO cool!"

"Talk into it Mom! You'll see!"

"Hello? Hello? This is your Mother speaking. I love you. Can you hear me?"

He giggled. "I can make it MUCH louder than you, Mom. Wanna see?"

"Sure, I'd love to." I stepped aside.

A booming, giggling, boyish voice sounded over the playground:

"WHY DID THE CHICKEN EAT TWO JELLY BEANS????"

"Um..." I laughed out loud. "I don't know!"

"SO THAT IT COULD GET ALL OF THE EYEBALLS!!!!!!!!!!!" My son laughed so hard he almost had to sit down. "EYEBALLS!!!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!"

"You are hilarious," I hugged him. "Chicken and Jelly Beans. That's really creative!"

"Hey Mom!"

"Yes?"

"Can I push you on the swings?"

"Sure, why not? And then, let's go get our hamburgers."

We climbed down from our sky perch in the top story of the wooden house and raced over to the swing set. I sat down, for the first time in at least six years, in a swing - all by myself. No baby in my lap. No child I had to watch out for or call out to. Just me.

I reached out my legs and then pumped them inward. I felt a firm push on my back.

"Here you go, Mom!" he cried. "I'll push you really high in the air! I'm really strong!"

"Yes, you are," I agreed. "You *are* very strong." My heart melted a little, for this man-child who yearns so much to grow up... yet also wants so intensely to be my baby.

"You are good at this," my son complimented. "Hey Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Can you take a turn pushing me now?"

"I would love to."

* * * * * * *

Passersby at the park this evening would not have guessed how powerful we were right then. To the untrained eye, we were merely a slightly disheveled thirty-five year old mother pushing her eager, nearly-six year old son on the swing at dinnertime. Smiling a lot. Laughing together.

They might never have guessed that this was the first time in four years I can remember pushing my son on a swing, without also having to push his little brother or sister at the same time. The very first time we have been to a park in all those years, just the two of us, simply to play. They surely could not have known that yesterday evening at this time, we were experiencing the height of disconnection, frustration and sorrow.

Yet, I knew.

He knew.

Together, we were renewing a bond and forming a precious memory that I'll cherish forever. My son in his red shirt with the yellow surfboard on the front pocket. His curling brown hair full of sand. Singing and smiling into the coming dusk, fully and totally happy. Me putting both hands out to catch him... then pushing gently and firmly to hoist him back into the air.

It is a dance, this parenting thing. We go backward. We go forward.

My boy yearns to let go of the chains holding him to the swingset, wishes he could take off from its rubber seat and really fly. Yet when gravity pulls him back to Earth, he rushes swiftly and unconsciously for my love and the comfort of steady hands on his back guiding him in a positive direction.

At last secure and joyous he thrills to the knowledge that ~ for now ~ I am not taking my eyes off of him for a second.

May 23, 2011 ~ Day 164 The Boy and His Tree

My five year old son managed to hurt my feelings tonight, which is essentially the same thing as saying that "I managed to hurt my own feelings this evening" since after all he is only a child... and as my mother taught me long ago, nobody can hurt your feelings unless you give them the power to do so.

The obvious question I have for her then, is this: How exactly do we give others the power to hurt us? Do we give them this power simply by loving them?

If we make ourselves vulnerable to the sting of verbal arrows simply by allowing ourselves to feel heartfelt emotion then I'm not exactly sure how to shield myself from the spiteful barbs that come my way from my children at times. It's not like I can stop loving them... they are the most precious and sacred beings in my life. I *made* them. They will forever be an integral part of me.

That said, what a little doofus!

Tonight we were talking about Summer vacation which is rapidly approaching - just two more weeks of school to go. (Hard to believe that we're about to be the parents of a six year old first grader!!!)

Money is very tight for our family at the moment although I firmly believe that things are looking up and that soon we will be in a much better position fiscally. At this exact moment though there is no money for summer camp for my children, especially as our middle son will be attending private summer school to make up for all of the learning he's missed in the past four months.

Tonight then, I had a brief talk with the eldest boy about the lengthy school vacation that we are about to spend together.

"Honey, I'm so excited that I get to spend your Summer break with you!"

"Well I'm not."

"Not what?"

"Not excited to spend it with you."

"Oh. Well, why? We're going to have a great time!"

"You are not fun. I don't have fun with you."

"I'm sorry to hear you feel that way."

"I'd rather be with my Dad. He's more fun than you."

"Oh, yes - well I can see what you mean. Your father is a very fun man. Unfortunately he has to work during the week so I guess you're stuck with me."

"But you're not fun."

"That really is too bad. I'll just have to do my best to BE more fun for you."

I thought about it for a moment.

"Hey - wait a minute," I added. "The last full day you spent with me, I took you to the movies and to get Mexican food and ice cream. You said you had a great time! How is that not fun?"

"It was okay. But I get bored with you."

"Gosh. Well, I'm sorry but we just don't have the money to send you to fancy camps right now so I guess we'll just have to do our best at home."

"No!!! That's even BORING-ER!"

"Well honey, I'm not sure what else to say. I guess we'll just have to see how it goes."

Turning my attention from him, I began to read a bedtime story to his little brother and sister... "Mr. Putter and Tabby Bake The Cake".

Two minutes later, he was back. "Mom. MOM. MOM!!! I mean to say, I *like* spending time with you. It's fine."

"Um, okay son. So, I'm going to keep reading to your brother and sister now."

"MOM. MOMM!!! MOMMMMMM!!!!! I like spending time with you, okay? I like it."

"Sure, that's good." I continued reading the story.

My son scowled and crossed his arms in front of himself, apparently frustrated by the realization that I wasn't going to get upset in front of him. He watched me for several minutes and at last he slunk toward the bookcase, pulled out a bedtime story and came to sit next to us on the bed.

The episode was over, I tucked the kids into bed and journeyed out into the garden to decompress.

Despite the calm attitude I maintained in the actual situation, I felt seriously annoyed AND bummed about this exchange.

"Why am I letting this get to me?" I wondered, and then realized it must be due to some latent feeling of guilt or self-doubt. "Is his father a better parent than I am? Am I really no fun?"

I've written about this before. It's true, I'm not the fun parent in our family. I'm the parent who goes out of my way to take the children to Target to pick out birthday presents for their friends, the one that wraps the presents and helps them make homemade cards. I'm the one that bathes them, feeds them, gets them into clean clothes and finds their shoes when they are lost so that they will be ready to leave for the party on time.

My husband is the man who actually takes them to the birthday parties. Usually this takes place while I am home cleaning our house and cooking. Yesterday for example, I cleaned and scrubbed for four hours while my husband and sons were at a fantastic birthday party.

Therefore, my son is right. I am not the fun parent and I am not as entertaining to be around as his father is.

What do I DO about this though? Even when I am trying to be fun... arranging playdates, taking he and his siblings to the park, taking them to theme parks, taking them shopping, taking them to the beach, painting with them, taking them to museums, taking them on "adventures"... even then, I'm never enough fun in his eyes.

It's kind of depressing as a parent to think that even when you are doing your best, your kids don't think your best is all that great.

I'm discouraged to realize that my son would perhaps prefer for me to be a full time working mother so that I could pay for him to attend private day camp, rather than spend his entire summer hanging out and going to do stuff with his siblings and me.

I guess this is one of those first big steps in the breaking away/growing up process... that time in which your parent ceases to be someone you admire and becomes someone you find mildly annoying.

Just yesterday his little brother came running up to me to let me know that, "Brother says that little people know more than big people do. You don't understand as much as we do, because you're grown up."

"WOW!" I exclaimed, laughing. "IT'S HAPPENING ALREADY? I DIDN'T THINK YOU GUYS WERE GOING TO THINK WE WERE UNCOOL UNTIL MIDDLE SCHOOL. REALLY? DO YOU KNOW MORE THAN YOUR DAD AND ME ALREADY?"

"Well, um, yeah!" the five year old smiled. "A little bit more."

"HONEY!" I cheered. "HONEY!" I skipped into my husband's home office. "The children are outgrowing us! It's happened! They know more than we do already ~ and they're only three and five!"

"Wow," he laughed. "That was fast!"

We played it up and made a funny joke out of it, but the underlying message was real and unchanged.

Our children are already seeing right through us. My son already thinks he knows more about life than we do. At the age of five he would already prefer to spend his summer in the company of a "cool" camp counselor than his mother.

Like I said at the beginning, I know this shouldn't hurt my feelings.

It does, though.

I gave the kid life less than six years ago and already I've lost my utility to him. Soon all he may value from me ~ for a time ~ will likely be my credit card and chauffeuring ability.

I never really understood the Shel Silverstein novel "The Giving Tree" until I became a mother. Now the book cuts me to the bone every time I read it aloud to my kids. To me, the tree represents a mother nurturing her child.

In the beginning of the story, the boy loves the tree and he wants to play with it all the time. He is never happier than when swinging from its branches and eating its apples. The tree is so happy too, because she loves the boy. This part of the story reminds me of my three year old son who always wants to cuddle on my lap and still thinks he wants to live with me for the rest of his life.

Then time passes and the boy begins to view the tree differently, seeing her more in terms of what she can give to him rather than what they can share together. He takes and takes and takes until she has nothing left to give. He virtually bleeds her dry, taking even her branches and her trunk.

In the end, when he is old-tired-sad, the boy returns to his tree/mother and reflects quietly on how much she has meant to him.

I hate this part of the story. I don't find it remotely comforting that the boy finally appreciates the stump that he'd left half for dead years before. I can tell you right now, I'm not going to let my children suck me dry physically or emotionally... at least not if I can help it!!!

Perhaps though, the tree in the novel knows more about parenthood than I do after less than six years as a mother. Maybe she understands that her role is to stay strong and solid throughout the boy's life, not allowing herself to get her feelings hurt when he repeatedly rejects her in favor of friends, money, girls and worldly desires.

I suppose it's true that the role of a mother is not to judge, but rather to love unconditionally. With that in mind...

...despite his occasional snide remarks and heartfelt viewpoint that I'm about as smart as a rock, I adore my little boy and I really *do* want him to have a good Summer vacation.

Who knows, maybe spending time with me will turn out to be more fun than he thinks! Either way, I'll keep ya posted.

February 14, 2011 ~ Day 67 My Valentine

I've been putting off writing about Valentine's Day because we didn't really have one this year ~ at least not yet. It isn't just that we have been completely wrapped up in moving to our new home and cleaning the old one - we also have three young children and no babysitter in our new neighborhood.

Valentine's Day just happened to be frenetically busy and I spent the entire day focused on my two sons and their respective Valentine needs... special cupcakes, cookies, treats and cards for their friends. In fact, I spent most of my day bringing gifts to people I love and basically forgot that the occasion had anything to do with romance.

What I really believe is that any day can be Valentine's Day when you are with the person you love, and that I am lucky to have love in my life. At some point my husband and I will have the opportunity to celebrate each other with a candlelit dinner, and I look forward to that evening whenever it finally happens.

I also believe that our children are the best Valentine's Day presents I could ever receive, and I feel really glad that I was able to spend the majority of my day hanging out with my eldest son - just the two of us. I took him to a special classroom Valentine's Day party which also marked his last day at the old school... and bought/brought red velvet cupcakes which looked and smelled divine.

At the end of the school day, my boy came with me to our 'old' house and helped me to pack boxes and load things into the truck for over four hours. We shared a large order of carne asada fries replete with guacamole and sour cream, and sat together side by side on the bare floor of what used to be our dining room - just eating and chatting like two old friends. It was an unexpectedly poignant moment with my little man. Any parent with three children close in age knows how rare and special it is to have a block of time alone with any one of them.

On the drive home my son reached forward from the back seat and handed me a card with a bear and a heart on it (recycled from the large bag of Valentines he had received at school). "Here mommy, will you be my Valentine?

How could I refuse such a tender offer?

"I would LOVE to be your Valentine, honey."

So while there may not have been much time for romance on the actual day of February 14, 2011... there was a vast amount of love given and received within our family of five. I think St. Valentine would approve.

February 7, 2011 ~ Day 60 Mothers and Sons

My husband and I just spent our evening watching "Nowhere Boy", a biopic about John Lennon's early years. I've been a fan of The Beatles for as long as I can remember but never knew anything before tonight about his traumatic childhood and complicated relationships with both mother and aunt.

Abandoned as a child by his parents, John was saved from foster care and raised by his aunt and uncle. He enjoyed a brief reconciliation with his mother before her tragic and untimely death when he was just 17. Horribly enough, a car struck her down as she was returning home from visiting the house where he lived.

John Lennon had one of those childhoods that you would think his publicist had invented, it was so full of drama and loss. The absence (and presence) of his mother throughout those early years made a profound impact upon him, infusing much of his poetry and music with pain and personal truth. He also forged a significant bond with bandmate Paul McCartney who lost his own mother at an early age... the two boys shared a profound void.

Now that the movie has wrapped up I'm left a bit bleary-eyed and sad, hoping mightily that my own small sons never find themselves in a similar situation. I suppose one could argue that the loss of his mother may have spurred John Lennon to express himself in LARGE and PROFOUND ways that he might never have done, had he enjoyed a quiet suburban childhood far removed from pain. Still, I'm guessing that the man himself would have gladly traded most (if not all) of his global notoriety for more time spent with his mother while she was alive.

What is it about mothers and sons? (For that matter, there's a really special relationship between fathers and daughters too!) My sons, especially the younger one, look out for me and treat me with such affection in a way that I can't recall anyone else doing - ever - not even my father or brothers. They paint me picture after picture, ask me how to spell the words in the love notes that they pen to me in huge and unshapely block letters (MOMMEE I LOV YUU), wrap themselves around my legs, tell me I am beautiful or that I look like a princess. They demand that only I pick out their clothes, read them stories, tuck them in. My older boy has just learned how to text (hmmmmm.... thanks, daddy) and he now sends me texts that say "Momee I miss you I love you come back" when I am running errands on my personal time. They know all of my flaws better than anyone yet they beg me all of the time to be with them, "Don't leave us to go to Mima's house, we want you to be HERE mommy".

It is almost like God is making up for all of the wasted hours I spent waiting around from age 14 to 26 for various blokes to get it together; for the two men I truly loved during the decade before I met my husband... for every other guy who made promises for fun.

THIS is my positive karma... the reaping of all of the warmth and tenderness I had poured into the Universe. I am now awash in a sea of boy love, much stronger and more pure than anything I ever experienced before becoming a mother. It is obviously not a romantic love but something so much MORE. I am they; they are me. My blood flows through their veins, they emerged into the world from the deepest recesses of my body. We understand each other. In some way, we will always be one.

Right now, my sons and I have the same agenda. They want me to adore and take care of them all of the time - which is easy to commit to. I DO adore them and want to take care of them all of the time.

I know the day will inevitably come when my sons are ready to break away from this phase... when I am no longer the beloved mommy that they want to grow up and marry. At some point I will likely become the butt of their teenaged jokes, their ridiculous graying mother who worries too much and loves them too hard. I know that is coming down the line, I am steeling myself for the time when my sweetest sweethearts need to pull away from me and form sentimental attachments to kids their own age.

Letting go will be the healthy thing for all of us -- I'm just grateful that it isn't anywhere near time for me to relinquish my claim upon their precious hearts yet. Right now at the ages of 3 and 5, my darlings still need and want a mother.

I pray every day (every hour) that I will stick around long enough to see my sons through their childhood and adolescence, hopefully into adulthood. I visualize myself attending their high school and college graduations, meeting their significant others, taking such pride in their unique accomplishments. I will be so elated if I can dance at their weddings, even hold and cuddle their own children.

I don't know yet who my sons will turn out to be, but it doesn't really matter to me. As their mother I reserve the right to find them perfect under all circumstances.

And when someday my boys have at last flown away from our nest and gone forth boldly to greet the wide world, I will thank my lucky stars every day that I have been not doubly but triply blessed. Thank Heaven, another priceless treasure thrives within the core of my heart and our lives ~ a daughter.