Ephemerence Enigmatica A fleeting look at the puzzle that is my life

Today you are three.

Finally.

You are taller then your brother was when he started Junior Kindergarten last year, and you weigh over 35 pounds. You talk in full sentences, have for a while, and use words that most boys your age do not know.

You’re precocious, you’re emotional, and you’re supremely cute. And you definitely have mummy wrapped around your little finger.

You give the best hugs of anyone I’ve ever known, and I love when you smother me with kisses. You are so affectionate, whenyou take the time to stop moving.

You know people’s names, you sing songs I’ve never heard, and I really think you have a gift of second sight.

Strangers stop me on the street telling me how cute you are, and telling me you should be a model.  You have a look that will both get you in trouble, and keep you out of trouble for the rest of your life.

You like to bead with me, you love your blankies, and you’ll unabashedly carry a purse.  And you love to take one of your animal friends with you when you go out.

3 years ago yesterday I was pregnant with you, and didn’t know how I could possibly love a second child, and then you were born, and it was as if I’d known you forever.  I get you like nobody else does, possibly because you are just so much like me.

Dearest boy, happy birthday.  Mummy loves you very much!

Yesterday, we went out to dinner with my parents. “We” being myself, husband, 2 boys, and this time, the nanny joined us.

After dinner, the boys were overtired. Not a surprise. They were running down the hall in the mall where we were, not holding anyone’s hand. I yelled to them to stop at the door.

They didn’t.

(The fact that the nanny was right near them is a subject for another post. The fact that they’ve started running off, also a subject for another post.) Suffice to say, I ran after them, grabbed their hands and brought them back to the place they were supposed to wait.

And then I got angry at them.

And then we walked out.

And then, the words…spoken by my older son, as he walked near me, holding the nanny’s hand, and walking next to his grandmother…

“I don’t love you anymore, Mummy.”

I didn’t respond, but it took merely a half second for my mother to get defensive and start to give him what I would only call a lecture about never stopping loving someone…

I interrupted her before she got too far.

“Stop,” I told her. “He’s just a little boy. It’s how he feels at this moment. It’s okay, he’s allowed. I’m the adult, I know better.”

It felt good to say that.

My childhood, of being made to feel guilty for “hating” my mother at a given moment, for wanting to feel things that I did and express them, for not being able to do so…it all flooded back.

And I shut it up with some adult logic.

It’s about time.

…lots going on at the moment. I’ve resigned from my teaching job, and am now officially unemployed and “seeking new challenges.”

I have taken a break, and am not ready to come back quite yet, but I am still here, and I’ll be around. Miss you all!