Thursday, October 23, 2014

This one is more...

more complex

more challenging

more rewarding

more responsible

more imaginative

more frustrating

more interesting than I ever thought a child could possibly be. 

McCord at 2 years old was quite possibly the hardest year Bo and I have ever had, but we all made it through, and there on the other side was a fascinating, remarkable 3 year old.  And now here we are another year older with the usual 4 year old challenges, but every once in a while we get a glimpse of this old soul as if he is an old man. 

Tonight after the boys were in bed, I made my way upstairs to wash clothes in the laundry room which is adjacent to the boys' bedroom, but I stopped before I got to the top of the stairs because I heard Mc singing.  He started participating in choir at church a few weeks ago, and it's not unusual to hear him "practicing" when he thinks he's all alone.  How I wish I could have recorded his sweet little voice singing his heart out to God in what can only be described as a stream of consciousness prayer interspersed with the days of the week and a few nonsense words.  It went something like this:

"I love you, I love you. Thank you for my cousins and my friends..."

A few days of the week were sung - not necessarily in the right order. Then,

"And God, can you please tell Santa Clause thank you for Catfish [my very special buddy whom I sleep with every night].

A few more days of the week...

"And thank you for my Batman castle. And all the parts that go with it."

...and then things got a bit muffled here, but I'm fairly certain I could make it out,

"But there's just one thing I don't understand, God. Why can't you just kill all the mosquitos?"

Absolutely delighting in the gift of hearing what's on McCord's heart, and half-crouched on the stairs, straining my ear to the crack in the door, I cried a happy, humble tear at the gift of being a mother. 

The days are long, redundant, and thankless.  And sometimes, many times you feel as though you've made a mess of things.  But every now and then you find yourself holding your breath, a heap of dirty laundry, and a tender moment.  And it makes it all worthwhile. 

Catfish and Batman