For Spencer

 

The only way I could entice you to work the other day was to suggest cleaning up "like the elves."

"How do they do it, Mom?"  you asked.

"Play with everything first,"  I said.

"Play with it and then put it away?"  you asked.

"Yes."

Yes.  It took a really long time to clean up that afternoon.  But it was a really lot of fun, too. 

I'm too tired to write, but you were so funny today.  And I'm crying that I didn't write down everything you said because of course I don't remember.  But I remember that I love you.  And that I love the way your voice sounds (eager...decisive...sure...happy...honest...expressive) when we work and play together around the house.  And I remember that when we made lunch this afternoon I said something about how much you've grown up and what a good, big boy you're becoming. 

"Yep," you said, "but I know I'm still growin'!" 
And then your light-hearted expression sobered a little . 
"I'm gonna miss you, Mom,"  you said.
I was about to assure you that I wouldn't be going anywhere when you clarified, "I'm gonna miss the height of you.  When I'm tall."

I could only laugh and blink back a few tears. And hug you.

 

Oh, little boy, I'm going to miss the height of you too.  But I'm at least grateful I'll have someone wearing a tie and eating cereal in my kitchen on Sunday afternoons for a dozen or so years to come.