Sometimes, when Tommy and I are driving around living our lives, I run down the many things I love about him. I start with 20 or 30 of my favorite things about him, then I wind down another 20 or so of particularly quirky Tommy-isms. I always end with the same one, though. I eventually tell him (and if I don't, he reminds me to say it) that I love him most and best of all, because he made me a mommy. Before I met Tommy, I wasn't anybody's mama, and he made me the happiest girl in the world when he was born.He quietly nods; he knows the routine and words by heart. Still he needs to hear these things. I need to tell him these things.
There are so many things I want for him. I want him to find a love that will be a quiet peace in his heart. I know his heart will broken before that happens.I want him to be bold. And I want him to be cautious. I want him to be both. I want him to find a way to be part of something big... bigger than himself. To figure out how to be a service.
I want to believe that somehow, we're giving him a past worth holding on to. I want him to be creative. Tonight, when he told me "I can't..." twice. Once about the drums, once about a crocheted bracelet... not a breath disturbed my hurt, hurting for him....still hoping for him, and promising to spend more time with him, to support his creativity.
And earlier tonight, watching him belt out "Drummer Boy" at the top of his lungs...clear, beautiful, sweet. I want that for him, to find song and dance at every opportunity... to soak it up, before somebody tells him he's tone deaf. Before somebody tells him it's 'not cool'. I want him to believe there is joy in doing it just because it makes you happy, and to not worry about what anybody else thinks.
I want him to choose home, and family, and to know what it feels like to love his own children the same way I love him. I want a good life, for him.
And I can feel all these things, swelling over me, more and more each day, as I see how big he's getting. How he's growing up, and away from me, and I look at him and I know how this will end... but for every sadness I feel that he is, ultimately, leaving me, it is replaced with such deep pride and love, for who is now, and for who he is becoming.
Just this week, he ignored me when I was having a bad day (and took it out on him *sigh*) and instead of rightfully feeling sorry for himself, he put his hand on my shoulder and told me he was sorry I was having a hard day. Love. He saw me working hard and offered to wash the dishes with me, then asked me to show him how to run the laundry, so he could help. He folded the towels, got lost in a book, showed Scotty how to play a game, cleaned his desk without being asked, and I love him.
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NICE!! Tone deaf? This story did, however, remind me of the time my brother, Tim, my mom and I were singing Christmas carols in the car. All having a good time, I thought, my mom turns to me and says, "Moose, sing right!" I swear to this day I was "singing right" and I hate singing. Thanks for your positivity, Moose.
ReplyDeleteha! YI love that!!! ou know, Moose, I don't *think* Tommy is tone deaf...but I can't know for certain, because I AM! That comment actually came from MY mom, who, famously (in my mind) said the following things to me: in 7th grade, when I told her I was in the chorus, she bleated, "You? In the *chorus*? You couldn't carry a tune in a bucket!" And, when I was even younger, I asked to take piano lessons (my Grandma Dot had an upright in her family room). She turned to my father and said, "I should pay for lessons? She's tone deaf!"
ReplyDeleteAnd you know what? I'm so spiteful...I love singing anyway! I don't do karaoke or anything like that, because she made me semi-self conscious (and I know what I sound like!) but man, I don't care who you are, if you're in my car (or my shower) you're going to get an earful. Every once in a while, Erik will grin and tell me, "You still got it, baby!" while I'm hitting every sour note. Love him, too! haha
Aw, you made me cry, right here at work. I am feeling a lot of the same about Callum, as he grows up. Most of the time, he's a 4yo who loves saying "butt," but every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of that helpful, thoughtful boy he's becoming.
ReplyDeleteOh, Mia! This is such a wonderful and sweet post. What a great mother-son relationship you've created!
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