Friday, October 16, 2009

How Babies Are Made (*gulp*)

On the way home from school today, Jacob asked me, "Mom, are you happy that you made me?"

"Actually," I say, "happy isn't a big enough word for how happy I am that I made you. I'm much more than just happy. Are you happy that I made you?"

Jacob gave me an enthusiastic "Sure! Who else would I play the Slugbug Game with?"

I agreed, and we talked about how happy we were that we were a family. Still riding that emotional high, I asked him, "Are you happy that Daddy made you, too?"

Silence in the car. His silence because he knew that he didn't come from Daddy's tummy, my silence because I had just walked right into the worst possible conversation I could have stumbled into with him on a Friday afternoon.

"Daddy didn't make me," Jacob protested.

I stammered back, "Uh, well, uh, no, Daddy made you, too."

"How?" came the tiny, wondrous voice from the backseat. Oh, crap.

"Well, you see, um, I mean, it takes a mommy and a daddy to make a baby." Ohhhhhh, crap.

Nothing but thoughtful silence in the backseat. I start counting to myself, beads of sweat popping out on my forehead, one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi, five ... until he responded with ...

"Slugbug blue. What are we having for dinner?"

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

A Good Day

I knew that today would be different when I turned the shower faucet off. As I toweled off I could hear the strains of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" coming from Jacob's room. [It's my fault, really. I became pseudo-obsessed with the tune after seeing the Glee-inspired rendition last spring, and promptly put it on my ipod. Jake then stole it.]


I crept down the hallway, wondering if I'd see a Jake-shaped lump under the blankets or a boy half-draped over the end of the bed as he wondered how long he could get away with staying in bed. To my surprise, I saw a seven-year-old fully dressed for school, stacking Pokemon cards and placing them in his storage case. I watched him for a full two minutes before he noticed me. He said to me, "My alarm went off. You were still in the shower. I was bored. Already made my bed. Gonna get a jump on the day."


A jump on the day? Was there some kind of mind-meld performed on my child while he slept?


It didn't stop there. He zoomed through his a.m. to-do list and was waiting for me patiently at the door while I scurried from room to room, turning off lights, searching for my pumps, lifting couch cushions for keys.


Fast forward to 7:00 p.m. I'm just getting home from an extra-long day at work, and he has just arrived from soccer practice. He greets me at the door with a hug and a kiss and asks me how my day went. I return the favor. He tells me that he got his homework done before recess, earned two tickets for good behavior in class and earned two "Caught Doing Something Good" tickets for helping others. And he wonders aloud if there are enough vegetables on his sandwich.


7:30 comes, dinner is done and he's putting the finishing touches on his presentation of a diorama for tomorrow's class. His presentation is on a Magic Treehouse book about Louis Armstrong. I select "What a Wonderful World" on my ipod and we set it to repeat. I ask him to dance, and we twirl around the living room.


Sing it, Louis.


Tomorrow might bring the Jacob I'm a bit more familiar with. The one who whines about every third thing I say, the one who would rather burrow under his blankets than straighten them out. But I love that Jacob as much as the one I got to spend time with today. He may take a bit more patience those days, but he's worth it.


And that Jacob is just as good a dancer as the one I danced with today. Play it again, Louis.