Day 5 of Fab-ruary! Prompts here for anyone who might want to join in (anyone and everyone are welcome to do so, however many times is convenient for you!)….
This makes me smile
1. My son
My son, when I see him coming out of the lift after school, socks all wrinkled, shirt and hair unruly, grass and mud stains all over his uniform, his eyes always, always, telling me exactly how he’s feeling. I can tell his mood within a second of seeing him, my Mama instinct trying to anticipate how to greet him to make him feel a little better (if he needs that) or to be fresh and breezy (if he doesn’t need Mama cuddles today).
He’ll burst in to the house, a riot of energy, straight to the kitchen to see what’s cooking (8 year old boys are ferocious eaters – please don’t tell me it gets any worse as they get older?!). Then he’ll pull out his paper and pens and start drawing, something from his imagination or from the tablet or from a book – depending on his mood – and he’ll be lost to us until he finishes. Him and his pencil, a strong, healing, confidence-creating bond that’s magical to see.
Then he’ll eat – with gusto – always asking for seconds, most probably thirds, actually, and head off to ‘do his thing’ (currently LEGO). I’ll hear him pottering around, singing or talking to himself or his hamster. He’ll come to find me a little later to read together or to bake or to eat again. It makes me smile, big deep soul smiles, to see how he’s growing. Some days he seems comfortable ‘getting bigger’ (gel-ing his hair, choosing his clothes with care), other days he’s a little unsure and retreats back in to his little boy self, just wanting to play.
8. A kind of magical age. So not a little little boy but so not a big boy either.
He, in general, just makes me smile. He’s filled with such passion and knowing and so much love. It hurts my heart to look at him sometimes. He’s a scramble of such deep emotions, such deep understanding which hasn’t yet found words. I see such depths of beauty in his soul, such understanding in his eyes, direct from his heart. He’s so quiet, so very peaceful and tranquil, in his heart, such a gentle, gentle soul. He’s one incredibly sensitive, incredibly thoughtful and authentic human being. And he’s my son! I feel like the luckiest Mama around, my chest swelling so much, as I write these words, I feel the tears being squeezed out, quite literally, from pure joy.
2. My daughter
My daughter. Recently 5. Seems like she’s 25, honestly, with all the things she says and does. I find myself aghast, lost for words, several times a day, at least, at some of the things she says and does. ‘Mature beyond her years’ does not do her justice. And she’s so funny! Modelling, walking up and down the house, hand on hip, hips swaying this way and that, make-up plastered all over her face, nails painted riotous rainbow shades. ‘Mama, take a photo! Pretend you’re from a book!’ she’ll direct (for her suggestions are always, really, orders in disguise, their recipients powerless against the force of her).
She’s a big, furious, ball of energy and love and unpredictability. She jumps – yes jumps – from the door of the nursery bus to my arms, always asking me to ‘stand a bit further away, Mama, I can do it’. Her confidence in herself and her own abilities is always matched by her abilities. She’s never daunted by anything. She’ll bluster in to any conversation, adult or otherwise, always with something clever or funny to say. Yet she’s not, in any way, arrogant or cocky. She just is, physically so striking it takes your breath away (and I’m her Mama), so so caring, it breaks your heart to see it. Surrounded by the babies at nursery, she’ll become their second Mum, bringing them their bottles or telling the teacher one of them needs their nappy changing.
Running to feed the ducks. Asking me ‘Why, Mama, why is that duck so greedy? She doesn’t even feed her babies. You’re so not like that, Mama, you always feed us first’…her ability to scan situations and to understand what’s happening is uncanny. She’s a walking connection-maker, her observations of everything feeding her internal database, from which she draws constantly, enriching everyone’s lives.
She’s my daughter. I have no words to describe how much I love her. There are no words. Just a million and one little moments, the tiniest moments, really. [How can it be that I can look at her two great columns of legs hanging off the bed as she sleeps (before righting them) and they shout to me ‘All is well with the world’?].
She’s going to make one formidable woman. “Heaven help the world” is all I can think to say, for I know she’ll do just what she wants to do always and ain’t no-one going to be stopping her. All I can do is give her a firm base from which to fly.
My sensitive, strong, beautiful son. My beautiful formidable daughter. I could look upon both of their faces all day long forever and always but always find something new, something else to love.
This is, they are, what make me smile. Always.