Posts Tagged ‘Sawyer’
Thursday, July 14th, 2011
I don’t remember the weight of him.
I see the picture of me holding him, but it doesn’t take me back there. Back to when he was just two months older than his baby brother is now.
Did he like to clutch the back of my arm like Xander does? Did he sit perfectly on my hip? Did I take the time to inhale his toddler scent?
It steals my breath, this crucial hole in my memory. Those days are gone. Really, really gone.
He is 7 1/2. He calls us “Mom” and “Dad.” I still pick him up occasionally, but his legs can wrap completely around me and he quickly slithers to the ground.
How do we forget?
I’d like to think it’s because we’re too busy living in the now. But I worry it also means I wasn’t present enough back then, back when I also had a 10-month old high-maintenance baby already taking her first steps.
I look at that picture and I am at the beach. I sit on our green scratchy blanket – that we still use – trying to capture the perfect shot of Sage in her floppy beach hat. I walk to the water’s edge to splash and chase waves with Sawyer. I help him dig up tiny crabs to put in the back of his red toy truck (we still have the truck, too). We eat turkey sandwiches on sweet rolls for lunch.
I am taken back to that day, but I am not taken back to the moment. I try to capture it but it is like spray coming off the surf, dissipating in the heat as I reach.
I listen to my friends with teenagers lament about missing these years, and I think to myself that I’m in these years and yet maybe I am not.
Maybe I am an observer. Maybe I am not doing this right at all.
I don’t remember the weight of him.
Saturday, December 25th, 2010
“Mommy! Put this on your blog!”
You got it, buddy.
Merry Christmas to all!
Tuesday, December 14th, 2010
The boy is seven.
Roll the word around in your mouth for a bit, like I’ve been doing all day.
Monday, September 13th, 2010
Today is your first day of first grade. Which means it’s the first time you’ll be in school all day.
You get to bring lunch. You get to sit at the peanut-free table. Don’t worry, you won’t be alone. Not that you worry about that stuff. You seem to always have a friend.
When I was in first grade my teacher’s name was Mrs. Shmeely. Actually, I’m not at all sure that’s how you spell it. But that’s how you said it. In second grade my teacher’s name was Mrs. Finger. And yes, we thought it was funny, too. Now that I’m thinking about it, that’s a rather unfortunate name to have. Not that it’s nice to make fun of other people’s names. So don’t even think about it.
Anyway, I don’t really remember much from first grade. Other than the teacher made this life-sized (not LITERALLY life-sized, but when you’re 6, the thing looked huge) green brontosaurus out of paper mache. Which is when you dunk newspaper strips into some gluey stuff and slap them over something. The whole mess hardens and you paint it and then there you have it. A brontosaurus. Okay, maybe it was a little more complicated than that. I remember she also put some sort of recorder in there so the thing “talked” or growled or did something. I seem to recall she tried to make us believe it was real.
We were first graders. But we weren’t stupid.
And neither are you.
You’re smart. You are. I know you’re just messing with me when you pretend you can’t read. Because when you sit still and LOOK at the word and concentrate? You read just fine. You just need confidence.
Speaking of confidence, don’t be afraid to mix it up with the other kids. Don’t shy away from playing because kids are too rough. You can be a tough little guy. I don’t want you sitting out because of fear. It could be fun. Remember when you used to be afraid to go into bounce houses? Give it a try. You’ll never know until you do.
The most important thing to remember is Mommy and Daddy always have your back. And when I say always, I mean ALWAYS. No matter what.
We love you. We want you to have a fabulous year.
Have a great first day. Your first day of many, many firsts to come.
Tuesday, July 20th, 2010
The end came and I wasn’t expecting it.
I mean, I knew it was going to happen, but I was hoping for a final hurrah, a lingering.
I wanted a Last Time.
Instead, the finish was as simple as a finger pointing downstairs. (more…)