Hold On Loosely

For those of you still reading my posts, welcome to a ride on my emotional roller coaster! Tickets are free, and you have to be this tall to ride.  Climb on board and buckle.up.

This past week, my third and youngest asked me to read him a book.  This is a novel concept for him because he is my third.  The first child literally had every book located under our roof read to her no less than twelve times each.  The second child had books read to her by our first child, and the third one…bless his little (il)literate heart.  Thankfully school has taught him what an actual book is.

So of course I obliged him, after making him wait twenty minutes while I folded laundry, packed lunch boxes, clipped his sister’s fingernails, counted out some box tops for his classroom, sold a few magazines for the school fundraiser so the three of mine could get a blessed plastic chicken to hang around their necks for a week (status symbols start YOUNG, y’all) and fed the dog.  He sat there upon the couch with his eyes that are shaped like a Precious Moments character and waited.  A stack of books were perched next to his bruised up boy legs, and he patted the cushion and implored me to finally “SIT!”

The first book in his que was Love You Forever by Robert Munsch.  (He must have dug deep for that treasured story…I haven’t seen that one since 2013, you know, the first kid)  Tucked up next to me thisclose and smelling like a wet puppy dog from an afternoon outside, I began to read the book to him.  For those of you unfamiliar with the book, I recommend you grab a copy and a box of tissues, too.  There is a repetitive stanza in the book that goes like this:

“I’ll love you forever,

I’ll like you for always,

As long as I’m living

My baby you’ll be.”

And the story continues on throughout the life of the young boy with his mother’s love proclaimed in this way while she rocks her baby boy, even as he isn’t so little anymore.  (She even drives to his house with a ladder attached to her roof when he is a grown-up man child and I don’t judge her.  Not at all.)

Gah-lee, Robert Munsch.  What kind of emoting man are you?  Who taught you to feel like that?  Had to be your mama.

So as I’m reading this inaugural story to my little boy and my voice starts cracking as the pages move through the story line, he thinks I’m just changing my voice to sound like a “litttttllle ollllld laaaaady” like the way the mama turns and I let him think that.  Until. Until he puts his little dimpled hand up to my face and feels a little precipitation.

“MOMMA! Are you crying? Why are you crying?” (and he says his C sounds like T’s still so it’s sort of “trying” that he says and I love it except when he asks if he can pet someone’s “kitty” and that’s why we are paying for him to learn to say it correctly.  K-K–Kitty.  So no “litttttttllllle olllllld laaaaady” slaps him with her walking cane when he asks if he can touch her “kitty”.)

“No buddy, not really.  Well yeah, a little bit.  This story just sort of makes me sad.”

And I choke out the last stanza of “I’ll love you forever…” at the end of the book and I get myself together.  As I close it, I ask him if he liked that story.

“I’m just gonna throw this book in the trash can.”

Sweetest boy doesn’t like his Mama crying.  I think next time he asks me to read to him he’ll go for the manl-ier looking books with tractors and trucks on the cover.

And that will probably be when he’s 7.

My oldest child had perched herself next to us as the book was in progress.  She knew the words by heart (duh) and she even admitted it gets her a little verklempt too.  Dang Mr. Munsch.  But now, this one.  This one is going on her first over-night weekend trip with our church this weekend.  We’ve already packed for it because we are both type A.  There are outfits ready to go labeled in Ziploc bags (if you think this is over the top, I don’t care and I won’t judge you either when you decide to copy me one day when you pack your child up for camp because you know it’s a darn good idea to keep her organized when she is out from under the shadow of my wings.)  The packing list is checked off with no item left behind…toothpaste and toothbrush, underoos, jammas, sunscreen, Pepto Bismol (we feel with our stomachs, both of us), socks, towels, honing device…

Just kidding.  But I did tell a few girlfriends of mine that I was going to call my vet and see if he would put a tracking microchip in her neck, as it will be useful not only now but for years to come.  Spring break? I see you! Back away from the Moon Spinner, sister.  16 and driving?  You ain’t got no business pulling up to the Lighthouse Package store.  College? Oh man.  I can think of one million uses for it then.  Walks into Heery’s Clothes Closet, locks down the “emergency only” credit card.  (And yes, I’m assuming she’s going to Georgia because is there even anywhere else to go to college??  That’s rhetorical, you Tigers and Elephants and Gators!)

She’s growing up on us.  And while we couldn’t be a minute prouder of her and adore watching all of the growing and changing and the glorious hormones that go with that (those are FUN! How did we get so lucky?), it stings a little.  Stings the corners of my eyes, the strings of my heart, and my fingertips as I squeeze just a little bit harder to hold on to what is…

(And for the record, I’ve not forgotten about my precious, adoring middle love.  She didn’t make it in to this particular coaster ride because she is like a cat…comes around when she wants to and it’s her prerogative. I’ve already put a chip in that one… But in all seriousness, she is our glue that holds us all together. We love her so!)

As this ride is coming to a close, make sure you unbuckle your seat belt and take all your belongings with you and make it snappy.

I’ve got to go measure my ladder and google “best way to tie rope knots” after my vet texts me back.