A couple Sundays ago we had a mini kitchen marathon. Marathon being a relative term to express two young boys and their attention span to something other than Legos and electronics. I think it was the color that drew them in. The Sockeye was super red and the skin sweet smelling. I have learned to pounce when these surprise moments happen. If I would have asked ten minutes earlier if anyone wanted to help me with dinner I would have been met with dead silence. Instead the bigger Red Head appeared, pulled up the kitchen stool, touched and smelled every part of that fish and looked at me with big eyes and said “I want to cut it.” I gently steered him toward the clementines and lemons that actually did need to be cut, and he was happy. We squeezed, grated, dashed, poured and pinched all sorts of stuff for our fish glaze into a bowl and as I tasted and checked balance, he expressed curiosity but wouldn’t actually try any. When Red Number Two joined us, Number One taught him how to season with generous pinches salt and pepper and how to whisk without whisking all over the kitchen counter.
The Bank is Closed
I am finally sick of playing Monopoly and in fact I hid the game after bedtime this past week. We have played too much and the novelty has worn off and the fact that I NEVER win makes it easy for me switch up the routine a little this coming week. We are a Type A family, most of us, and we argue about who gets to be the banker and what property deals you can and cannot make. Switching teams is condoned sometimes depending on the Type Triple A’s mood and while I read this, Friday night sounds more stressful than lovely but that isn’t true. Friday nights are sacred. They are mini celebrations of getting through another week of what sometimes feels like a grind and always feels like hard work. They revolve around two boys who none of us can get enough of, and they oblige that need, especially on Friday. Oblige with their closeness, appreciation of Grandma’s loitiony back rubs and warm Auntie baths and their shared desire to just be at home and not make anything too complicated. For me, these nights are better than any holiday or vacation or special event and I know I won’t have them forever and that elevates them and places them their own special Friday night place in my mind.
The gift I get every week is some quiet time to think about my kids, when they are a few blocks away spending time with their Dad. A gift now, only with a few year’s perspective and a gift that makes them not seem so far away on those days they are not with me. This time allows me to think about them in a way that I simply cannot when they are around. It allows perspective to see very clearly
how quickly they are changing and growing and how it won’t be long until they are surly teenagers who have zero interest in hanging out with their geeky Mom all day on Saturday. And I don’t fear this time, it is part of them growing, for me too. More so I am motivated by it. Motivated to capture, see and feel each second I have with them now, knowing those seconds later on will feel much different. Motivated to not miss anything about these two little beings that are becoming less like extensions of me and becoming more like the people they will be.