Everyone should experience the joy of a seven-year-old boy who likes magic tricks, catching bugs, and telling jokes. I remember dreaming of the day that I’d finally be able to have a conversation with my kids. You know, something beyond, “Do you want your cup? Oh? Say, ‘Please.’ You’re such a good boy.”

This weekend, my son flopped on my bed crosswise, and asked, “Where do dogs go for a rest? [Pause for effect.] A barking lot! Get it, Mom? A barking lot?!” Yes, we’ve come so far. I love him.

I was in a hurry the other day and found the closet door jammed open and blocking my path due to Hungry, Hungry Hippos being logged in the fold. I cursed muttered under my breath, wondering if I was cut out for motherhood for the long haul. (Sometimes, I’m dramatic.) The marbles were spilled all over the floor, and so were the ones in my head. I couldn’t manage my nine-month pregnant form around the door, so I heaved my hand in blindly as I grasped for plastic hippos and small white marbles. The dented box was hardly worth salvaging, but I rigged it enough to hold all the treasures.

As I cleaned up, I recalled my son in his suit just a couple weeks earlier. He helped my husband collect the offering in church. Beforehand, he and my husband practiced how to collect, time, and get the plates synchronized. It’s a science, I tell you. My son was up and dressed in his suit a few hours early for the big day. (A son’s quiet eagerness is something special that wives and husbands get to share and muse over behind closed doors.) He was so handsome in his suit and serious expression, clues that he was to embark on a weighty task.

Then, from my view from the piano bench, I caught a glimpse of his tennis shoes, all scuffed up. My husband and I leave for church at different times, and this escaped my notice that morning. Gelled hair, straight tie, ironed shirt…and dirty sneakers! I don’t have adult children, but I wonder if I will see and consider him like this when he’s older—tall, handsome, and important, but still wearing scruffy sneakers and a joke book in his back pocket.
McG