I know it’s not Monday.
However, this is the only place where I can have “do-overs.” Where, if I so choose, I can say “I want this to look as if I posted this on Monday even though it’s Thursday.” It does my little perfectionist heart good.
So, there you have it. Take a moment and pretent it’s Monday. Then, when you’re done, realize that it’s Thursday and you only have one more day until the weekend. The high you’ll get . . . well, you can thank me later.
This weekend I realized that Max is growing up. When I related this to my mom, she replied, “That’s been the case for quite some time now . . . ”
It is just that I don’t always see it. Expect it, yes. Even demand it sometimes (but not in a “No More Wire Hangers!” sort of way, mind you). But Saturday it hit home.
After a late night of video games (Lord have mercy! It’s an addiction! More on that later . . . ), I went in to rouse the chitlins out of their cozy nests. I was met with grumbles and groans and snores (from Philip). That is until I asked Max if he was ready to be a cub scout.
“Yes!!!!” he shouted and he was up and out of his jammies before I could blink.
And then it happened. I handed him a scout shirt and in that split second he became a boy. Not a little kid, not a first grader but a boy. Carefully I rolled his neckerchief and as I put it over his shoulders, I saw a flash of the same scene years down the road when I would put the blue Eagle scarf on the shoulders of a young man.
Suddenly my throat was tight and I found myself welling.
“Look at you! You’re so handsome! I’m so proud of you!” I clucked just like a real mom.
Then I folded him in a hug. Because I could. Because he’ll only be a boy for so long. Because he’s my baby.