Thursday, June 2, 2011

On forgetting

I'm often afraid I'll forget the magical moments of watching my kids grow and the amazing things they say and do. When I am fully cognizant about that worrying, I try to let go of it, and enjoy the moment. It is then when I'm truly happy.

Ezra will begin, "we will wock you," and I'll listen; but he will demand, "sing." I love the demand for choral singing, the insistence on my presence and engagement and the rejection of my passive listening. I love my child's personality. I love hearing him sing, "winkle, winkle, wittle tar, how I wove you up a bove..." as he tries to keep the melody and remember all those words. I need to videotape, because writing can not capture the pure honey of his voice and innocence.

Tonight, I put Ezra down to sleep and sang "Twinkle, Twinkle," with him. I put my head next to his and he kissed me and I kissed him and I just rubbed my face against his satiny skin, taking him in.

I sometimes can't follow Elijah's winding staccato stories, but I try to keep him talking, so he can practice telling stories and speaking coherently. So much is so urgent for him. I brought him to my job yesterday and he had to use the restroom. Once finished, he flew out of the restroom, "Mama, I have something to tell you. It's really important." I looked at him giving him my very rare full attention. "Someone wrote f*&% Crossland on the bathroom wall." I didn't understand the urgency nor why he believed it was okay to repeat what he had read. But it's kind of humorous to think that the vulgarity I had become used to held a demand for immediate attention and rectification to my seven year old. I quickly told him, in motherly fashion, "don't say that word ever, even though you were reading it, I don't want you to say that word." He agreed, and insisted that I tell the authorities about those words on that wall.

I have forgotten so much over the past 7 and a half years, but I'm working on remembering to be present for them and for myself.

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