For Spencer

 Fall Festival 2013

I'm aware that you're pretty significantly underrepresented as far as our blogging record goes this year, my boy.  I keep having good intentions of writing more frequently - then every night those intentions fade as fast as my eyelids close when I hit the pillow.   But I've got to get something written down!

You are darling.

That goes without saying.  And you make me smile so often.  One Monday afternoon I hinted about root beer floats as a family night treat.   Almost before the "amen" of our family prayer that night you were on your feet, "OK!!  Let's get the floating soda!"

We spend so many hours of so many days at school that I miss hearing the nonstop bubbling of your imagination that used to grace our time at home.  But every once in a while I still catch glimpses.  The other evening it sounded like this:  "Mom, let's pretend I'm your crocodile! Which I actually am!" Many minutes later, as bedtime approached, I had nearly forgotten you were my pet reptile and I suggested we hop on my bed for a chapter of Narnia.  Your reply (dripping with an air of *hint, hint!* and *remember!*)  was:   "I don't know about books...I've never read them....since I'm a crocodile...!!"

My laughter was mixed with a little incredulity a few weeks ago when I tucked you in before bed and you looked at me narrowly, saying, "I remember that we never carved those pumpkins on Halloween!"

Seriously?   I could have taken that laughing moment to remind you that I am not the only one with crimes on the record.  A few days ago after school, for instance, you begrudgingly accompanied me to three different classrooms to apologize to three different teachers for various offenses at school.  But you were in the principle's office a couple weeks ago for some positive recognition as well,

and I'm not feeling too sincerely worried about you.

Every once in a while you stand in front of the mirror and ask me, "Do I look like Dad?"
"Yes,"  I tell you.  And in the moments when I see your kindness and sincerity surface, I see the resemblance even more.

Sometimes I wonder how you'll possibly grow up to be a wonderful, kind, helpful husband without the chance to watch how a kind, helpful, wonderful husband acts day in and day out.  I'm constantly trying to point out gentlemanly behavior to you.  When we stood together in our doorway waving goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa the other day, I crouched down by you said something like, "See how Grandpa opens the door for Grandma before he gets in to drive?  That's what Dad always did for me.  And that's what you'll do for your wife someday."  You took that information in thoughtfully. "The question is," you replied slowly, "I don't know who I'm going to marry!!"  I laughed and laughed and remembered, there's plenty of time to discuss these things yet =)

And it's possible you'll require very little coaching.  There is, in fact, a well of sweetness and goodness in you that is so dear.  A few days ago Grandma Packer was telling Lucy about a beautiful lady she had met at the temple.  She was describing how simple and naturally lovely the woman was, with tasteful make-up, radiant countenance, etc, etc.  To emphasize those qualities to Lucy, Grandma finished the description saying, "I want to be just simple and elegant like that."  You, my boy, looked up from your dinner and said immediately to Grandma, "You already are!"

Later that evening I was telling Grandpa about that sweet comment you'd made.  With a twinkle in his eye, Grandpa said, "Does he know what elegant means?"  None of us knew you were listening but you chimed right in (sounding slightly offended), "It means beautiful!!"

I hope you will always have such an accurate eye for beauty, Spencer.  You grandma is a wonderful standard to keep in mind!

You've been such a trooper this year.  I've thought that to myself countless times after waking your little body up at the crack of dawn and seeing you climb out of bed and into your uniform with rarely a complaint.

 I remember one Saturday morning that made me smile.  You opened one eye at our usual weekday waking time.  You noticed that it was still dark (daylight savings has never been so hard an adjustment as this year!) and remembered that it was Saturday.  "Can we sleep until the real morning?" you asked. =) I was so glad to say yes! and snuggle right back to sleep with you.  And although it truly breaks my heart the way you sometimes fall asleep on my lap or on the floor of my classroom the minute your long school day is over,

I have to remind myself that learning to work hard isn't a bad thing.

This hasn't exactly been the cotton-ball snowmen and fingerprint flower petal kindergarten year I might have picked for your still so tiny self.  And I often wish that I could make life sweeter and easier for you.  I remember one day sometime in the fall when I actually made a real dinner after school - some kind of yummy soup with all your favorite veggies.  While I was cooking, I remember hearing you say excitedly to Lucy, "Mmmmmm!  It smells so good in here!!"  I cried lots of silent tears into the soup that night.  And I still regularly wish you were growing up with a mother that was regularly cooking fragrant meals, and keeping house, and mending the gaping holes that are currently in every knee of every pair of your school slacks.  Being a proficient homemaker was always my ultimate ambition.  I never wanted to do anything else.  I was never naive enough to think it would be an easy life pursuit.  But it was always the one I deemed worthiest.  So this different life we're leading is so foreign to all of my expectations and goals.

But it is a good, and very blessed life.  And however different my role is from what I imagined or wanted, I am still good for a few things.  Just tonight before bed you brought me this:

I read it with a smile...

"The Boy's Party, by Spencer

1. We have fun

2. We will have treats

3. Will play games

4. Will go to my secret hide out

5. Will go home

Signed by Spencer"

I said to you, "This looks amazing.  Do moms get to come to the boy party?????"

You were thoughtful for just a moment and then said, almost to yourself, and as if the idea was just dawning on you, "Well, you'll bring the treats...."

I'll always be happy to bring the treats, Spud.  And I think we can make this life into a good one yet, together.  It is teaching us good lessons.  Different than I ever thought.  But still valuable.  You asked me the other day after visiting with Mr. Crippen, "Mom, when will I be a teacher?"  I loved that.  And I love that you are learning to take responsibility for your work.  Yesterday you came in after school and asked if you could do homework in another classroom with your friend David.  "If you promise to sit down and do your work!"  I said.  "Mom,"  you answered sincerely, "I just said a prayer in my class so I won't get tricked about doing my homework."

You dear thing.  Maybe that's the real lesson we're both learning.  To be sincerely prayerful as we navigate this unknown territory.  I love and learn so much from your prayers.  You never hesitate to pray about what you're really feeling and thinking - about what you truly think and sincerely need help with.  I remember jotting down a little prayer you offered a few months ago.  You said, with such gushing sincerity, "Bless us to do the Lord's commandments and to always do Your work. And I need a little help to always do the things I should do.  Right away."  

I'm not sure I've ever meant "Amen"  as sincerely as I did after that sweet prayer that sweet night.  Those are the things my heart wants too, Spencer - to do the Lord's commandments, and to always do His work.  And I, truly, need a little (lot!) of help to always do the things I should do.  Right away.   Thank you for being so sensitive to the sweet feelings of the Spirit.  I think all children are, but I love seeing that sensitivity in you.  You asked a few nights ago before bed, "Mom, will you sing the song about 'Reach up and take His hand?'  That makes me have happy crying."

Spencer, your goodness makes me have happy crying.  Lucy and I love you so much.

Last week Grandma and Grandpa took you to their house for a few days to recover from a bout of the flu.  We girls reveled a little in the quiet togetherness of being home alone, but by the end of the second day, we were curled up in front of the fireplace watching videos of you and missing you like crazy (we watched this one and this second one about a million times and laughed our heads off!).

Like your sis always tells me (with a smile and a shake of her head), "can't live with him, can't live without him =)