Ethan's eight years old. I know that has been well established in the last three posts, but I'm going to hit on it just a second more.
Like I said, he's eight. He only gives half hugs now. And only when you demand them. Invariably, with a bit of a grimace. Hugs where he leans away, allowing you only the limited privilege of closeness.
He doesn't say "I love you." when I drop off the kids. Not even when I repetitively scream it out the window. Strange. He doesn't even look back.
When I try to have those deep moments of discussion in the car, where I know he can't wiggle away from me, he politely waits for me to pause (sometimes) and asks, "Can you turn on the music now?"
He showers with intense privacy, With the stealth of a ninja he is at one moment a dirty kid, and the next, a dripping hair, redressed, slightly-less dirty kid. (can one really get clean in a two minute shower?)
He's teetering on that stage of adolescents, the one I'm so reluctant to let him get to. Although, at certain times, he seems as confused and reluctant as I am. There are still some times when I go to his class to volunteer and he yells out "Mommy!" (Something he never usually calls me) and he jumps into my arms for a hold-hug. For one second. Every now and then a moment of vulnerability makes him lapse into the child he's leaving behind. And as scary, sad or painful those little moments are, there is a part of me that cherishes them.
For some reason, last night, I was gifted another one of these moments. The twins were off to bed and we were waiting for Robert to come and take Ethan up to join them. We had no idea that Robert had been distracted outside when he was suppose to be taking care of the dog, by a cluster of freakishly large rats that apparently live beneath our porch. (even as I'm writing that, I'm forcing myself to forget about it. Somethings are better left unacknowledged.) Unbeknownst to us, he had set up camp with a flashlight, chair and pellet gun for a showdown.
Thinking he'd reappear any moment I demanded my nightly hug. As usual I got a half-hearted, side hug that threatened to disappear the moment it showed itself. As usual, I pulled him down into a tackle-like, twisty, power hug. These usually last as long as I have the energy to wrestle.
Somehow, my giggling, twisty child wiggled around until I had him in a cradle hold on my lap. No easy feat if you consider the energy and strength of that child. (Although, I'm pretty wirey myself.) Once in the hold I started to rock him. I teased, "Here is my little, widdle, teeny, tiny baby! Give your mama-wama a kissy wissy." Leaning over him I smothered kisses all over his beautiful, turning face. Usually this ignites another shot of adrenaline-pumped, escape-artist energy into my boy.
Perhaps it was the mystic power of the moon looking larger than it has in 18 years (or so Yahoo! claimed) But for whatever magical reason, when I relaxed my arms, Ethan didn't jump out of them. Instead he relaxed and stared into my eyes.
I never waste these moments. Scooping him back up I said, "I used to hold you all the time like this when you were a baby. (even then, a squiggly one) and I used to sing you songs like this one." Rocking him back and forth a did an enthusiastic rendition of "Dream a little dream of me" inserting the kisses and tight hugs whenever the correlating words came up. Laughing and moving the entire time, I knew my time was short. When I came to the end of the song, he shockingly said. "What else did you sing?"
Looking down at this gorgeous child I had to smile. The baby I used to hold had that same, no-holding back, maniac grin and sparkling eyes. This baby, however, sprawled out over me. His gangly legs stretched over my arms and onto the floor. My arms ached holding up his back and knees even with his bum planted firmly in my lap. But nothing was going to make me let go now.
Instead I belted out a bumpy, rocky, version of "I've been working on the rail-road." and a softer version of "Rock-a-bye-baby" including the required 'drop' at "the cradle would drop." (I was never a soft, tender, sweet lullaby singing mother. I always added jumps, drops, scares and action!) I even sang a requested "A,B,C's."
All through my lovely renditions of the classics, my squirmy boy remained rooted on my lap. (Rob at this point was taking shots at scurrying rodents. Yikes!) So, with no Robert appearing to distract us, I started telling Ethan all about his first words. (Da da...naturally) and how infuriated I'd get when I'd play all day with him, take care of him, feed him and then the moment Robert would open the door to come home, he'd jump up on those chubby legs, break into his waddle run, arms outstretched screaming out, "Da da! Da da!" Ethan laughed, looked at me and yelled, "Da Da!" To which, I feigned anger and started tickling him. This went on for a while. The tickling, the stories, the laughter. And amazingly enough, the staying put.
It gave me an extended amount of time to do one of my favorite things in the world. Study my oldest child's perfect face. His wild, shaggy red hair. His matching green/copper eyes. Flawless skin. Giant smile. Freckles. His unbridled exuberance for life. I can hardly contain the love I have for that child in just one measly little heart.
When Robert finally trudged in to get better equipped for what was going to be his 3 hour rodent vigil, my arms were weak from holding my ever-moving 60 pounder. My mind was full of memories. My heart was full of adoration.
Just yesterday Mom told me how strange it was that you could see all stages of your child's life when you looked at them. The baby, the toddler, the child, the adult. We haven't gotten that far with my babies, (yes! I insist on seeing them as my babies!) but they are getting further along. Was last night the last time Ethan will let me hold and baby him? Maybe. I really hope not. Who, after looking into the eyes of their perfect little one would every wish for time to pass by?
Sure enough, though, the moment the rodent-shooting-crazed-hunter of a husband lumbered in the door, the trance was broken and my baby was on his feet yelling, "Daddy!"
Later that night, around midnight, Austin came running down the stairs. Something was the matter with Laina. It turns out she had worked herself into hysterics because she was unable to get to sleep. She clutched my neck and sobbed and sobbed until I sang my fall-back, "Dream a little dream." With her tears running down my neck, she finally calmed herself down but didn't unlatch for a while. Finally she was calm enough to lay down. I went back and forth between the twinnies (Austin wouldn't be left out) giving hugs, kisses and squeezes. I rubbed Alaina's gorgeous face and helped her imagine her happy place (Hawaii, naturally.) I reassured Austin with occasional smooches (it's always a big-lipped smooch with Austin...never just a little peck.) An hour later, both of my perfect, little babies were asleep.
Looking at their peaceful faces in the glow of the colored nightlight, I wondered again how I got to be so lucky. And how, while the rest of the women in the world seem to be lathering themselves up with expensive concoctions to stop their bodies from aging, I can't stop wondering if there was some of that goo I could smother on my little one's bodies.
I guess I'll have to satisfy my need to hold back time by writing it down. That way, when they drive off in their cars to college, I'll be able to look back and remember the details of a wiggly stolen 15 minutes with Ethan and a late night snuggle with my twins.
Alaina dressed herself today. Again. From her bright yellow flower down to her sequenced, rainbow shoes. (The lack of WA sunshine prevents me from showing you the actual sparkle content of the outfit.)
