From His Perspective
Mom puts sinaman in our french toast. She also calles dad hony or rick. She is the one who atwase cooks. She goes to IDS for her work. She loves to sing. One of her favorit music is the fore seasons. She saports all of us in scool. She likes spending time with one of my siblings.
So, apparently, she should be spending a little more time supporting them in spelling, specifically, but otherwise? This was pure golden to stumble across. We have a kajillion notebooks in our house, in our car, in our two trucks, in purses and backpacks, because drawing, writing, and coloring have always been our fallback activities to keep squirrely kids occupied. I never throw them away, and this is why: what if I missed this? What if I tossed this small little apple-shaped noteboook, most of the pages of which have meaningless scribble, into the trash, and never saw this little reflection on "Mom" written in careful, newly-learned cursive?
He's right! I do love to sing, I love Vivaldi's Four Seasons, and I do love to spend time with each of my kids alone...although I hope and trust he knows that he is one of those siblings I like to be alone with.
I never know how much of me gets through to them; they can ignore me, disrespect me, wish me away, beg me for mercy and beg me for candy. I'm clear on all of that, and some days, it seems that's all I'm good for. But sometimes, I guess, they also see me. And this little essay reflected me back pretty well.
Could it be? Dare I imagine it? Might I be doing something right?
* * *