This afternoon I was rushing to get the kids down for their naps. Lila went well enough - she was ready. Gage resisted my hurrying, but resignedly moped his way to bed as well. Only a few minutes after I turned off his light I heard him call for me.
I sighed, hands sticky with the raw chicken that I was submerging in broth to cook for this evening's enchiladas, and finished what I was doing quickly.
He calls again. I can't call back - Lila will wake.
I washed my hands, ran up the stairs and hissed 'what?' at him in the duskiness of his doorway. "You have to be quiet."
"Mommy, nunnle with me." This is how he asks me to snuggle. To nunnle.
"I can give you a hug, but I need to get back to making dinner." I crouch near his bed and give him a quick squeeze.
"No, Mommy, nunnle with me, like this," he puts his face near mine and makes this little happy whimpering sound that we coo to each other when we're feeling the most contented.
His eyes, inches from mine, huge and liquid and clear. The most deeply hued brown I've ever seen. I get lost.
My heart breaks.
I climb into his bed and lay my face alongside his. I breathe his feathery, moistly warm hair straight into my nose. I coo at him and he coos back, wriggling with happiness at this reprieve. I stroke his cheek, from his temple to his jaw, with the side of my thumb.
I murmur about his day, about who he saw, what he did. He sticks his thumb in his mouth and smiles around it when I hit on the good parts. I run one fingertip down the middle of his back, feeling the buttons of his spine. I graze the bottoms of his bare feet with the same fingertip and he pulls them away, tucking them underneath him. He's getting ticklish.
"You're going to have a good nap," I whisper. He grins at me and gives one last puppyish shiver.
I kiss the nape of his neck and lift myself from his bed, leaving a depression in his little mattress. I blow him a kiss from the doorway and back out of his room, watching him nuzzle into his treasured blankie.
And you know what? For all my rushing, for all my perceived deadlines? The chicken was fine. Of course the chicken was fine.
I need to remember to slow down.
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Meet my son Gage (10), my daughter Lila (9) and my daughter Josie (6). They're hysterical.
3 comments:
Beautiful! I used to hope my kids would remember such moments but now I know it's enough that I remember....
Kids are so sweet. And the connection we have with them is so easy to play down. These are the times we should remember in all circumstances. Even if it means drudging it up through the thickness of the moment.
"I run one fingertip down the middle of his back, feeling the buttons of his spine. "
I love this phrase. Beautifully written, and an important reminder. They are only small for so long. It breaks my heart when I realize that one day, Tom won't want me to snuggle him like that anymore.
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