Friday, October 7, 2011
This year, my son started 3rd grade. He's going to take the MEAP for the first time (a test in which, contrary to what I'll ever admit to publicly, I do believe in). He is halfway to middle school. He has 100% on all of his spelling tests thus far. He gets himself ready in the morning for the first time. At 6:45, before I leave to drop my daughter off at her grandma's on my way to work, I wake him up. I make him wake up enough for him to to kiss me goodbye. I'm not sure what happens after that but, based upon what my husband says, my son goes back to sleep. He forgets what I told him about making sure he puts his homework in his backpack. He forgets that his light is on and he has to get up. He forgets that I squeezed him and told him I love him the most. He goes back to sleep. And then my husband walks by and wakes him again. He gets up. He gets dressed. He eats breakfast and watches cartoons. His step-father leaves for work. He puts his bowl by the sink. He watches cartoons some more until his alarm goes off. He puts his phone in his back pack. He goes to the bus stop. He kicks around at the storm drain until the bus comes. That little boy is the love of my life. And I don't have to do everything for him anymore because he can do it and when I get home he doesn't run to hug me because he's too busy getting ready to go outside and play with his friends and he doesn't want to come in until dinner and then he wants to go back out until all his friends are beckoned by their parents who love them the most and then he wants to bathe and watch Disney. Last and maybe least, he wants to cuddle just 5 minutes before bedtime. And I miss the time when the first thing he did when he saw me was jump on me like I was the best thing he ever saw. Ever.