18 September 2012

did you get the memo?

the boys argued to the point i asked with much fatigue and equal amount of frustration, "what are you palestine and israel?" then when the oldest criticized my technology techniques, i shot back, "hey buddy, if i wanted to live with criticism, i would move back in with my mother." 
how my children must see me.

all of this comes on the heels of a long day where the Mister is out late. i am drained {and it's only tuesday}. but then i sat down and thought, this is not the mother i want etched in my boys' memory. the tired hag who was quick with the sarcasm and slow with the grace. i want them to have a snapshot of a kinder, gentler woman who enjoyed hearing the same 3 chords on their guitar like it was the first time hearing it or listing all of the shapes of bacteria or succumbing to a pile of legos with vim and vigor or reading with a lap full of books and a jar of m-n-m's. in case i forget, i'll write myself a memo...

hey charlie,

i meant it today when we were driving in the car and i said, "i love reaching my hand over in the car and grabbing on to you. you're not mine forever so i am savoring every drop of you i can. every. yummy. drop.of.you." you have the heart of an artist and the confidence of a mountain climber. i love you, warrior. you tell me you are more pueblo, "peaceful farmer". but your passion doesn't concur. because you love a good row, buddy. i can see it in your merry eyes. you love a good row.

hello, harry

how can you continue to surprise me with your candor and your complete lack of self awareness? you have thrown caution to the wind and make me gasp, but mostly from laughing so hard. i tell you the truth. the lord sent me a resounding message to LIGHTEN UP, and he wrapped that message in a blue bundle named harrison. your magnificent freedom makes me jealous. your honest and authentic gestures inspire me.

o, cookie dough

what is your real name? i don't think i'll ever see you as anything more than my baby. maybe that's why you get away with EVERYTHING. o, how i have pettered out on having you toe-the-line. you whisper in my ear, "you're as beautiful as a spider". our secret reference to an arachnid named charlotte. adventure and courage are your best friends. they carry you through many a day and get you into the most unlikely of predicaments much to my dismay {and frustration}.daddy told me about you riding your bike down our driveway lying on your stomach. i cannot believe your bravery. you keep me from conforming and settling and most of the time, resting. but you certainly keep me on my knees, praying. o, dear me. you have driven me to my knees. 

my darling, jack

the past few months have been touch and go for us. i wonder if i will remember what you looked like as 13 year old because you have suddenly become camera stubborn shy. and equally reticent on giving me hugs. i sneak up from behind and grab you until you wriggle away with a "mom, you are so weird." i sneak up from behind and sniff the nape of your neck. "mom! what are you doing?" i smell you. the baby you. you still smell so sweet. the burgeoning adolescent boy has not ravaged you-yet. even though the attitude clearly has. you have made me question everything i thought i knew as a mother-in a good way. you do not accept my slack {you came by THAT trait honestly}. and you reckon with me on every point both small and large. basically, i feel like we are iron sharpening iron, son. and that is a painful process.
over the past month i have seen you shoot up like a geyser. you have taken on an incredible school workload with zest like i have never seen. i told your daddy, "he is soaring". and you are. you grin as you move through your day-almost like you are devouring a decadent meal. "latin? a double helping please. biology? don't mind if i do. i better save room for writing and reading too." you continue to spur me on to read more and learn more so that i can pronounce those obscure scientific words. you will always be the one responsibly for welcoming me to motherhood. like it or not.

your mama aka gf

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