…or my alternate title, “Why I Would Suck at Being a Jew.”
Ho. Lee. Smokes. Folks.
It’s the hours which lead up to dance parties, tooth brushing, stories, and prayers that have led to the rapid grays growing haphazardly out of my head. These grays all started appearing a little over 3 years ago. True story. Ask my hair stylist. I don’t make this stuff up.
Let’s see…he dipped his head in the potty the other day, prior to flushing. We had errands to run and so I let him leave the house with urine tipped bangs. Whatever.
And the dog. Four pounds of fluff. Not just fluff, but she’s all bark and getting sassier as the days go by. She’s wound tighter than a $3 watch and needs medicinal marijuana more than any of the old hippies who have been fighting for it here in Colorado. And Ryan and she, Lady that is, have a love/hate relationship. It used to be I’d say he loves her and she hates him, but in more recent days, I think they both like to ruffle each other’s feathers. The look in his eye when he’s chasing her is just downright naughty.
And why does he punch? It’s like he has so much enthusiasm and is trying to express himself, but why the punching?
Then I had to Google how to get toothpaste out of the carpet. Because. Even though he doesn’t HAVE to sleep during “room time,” a nap is preferred, but he is allowed to read or play with toys for a while. Quiet does NOT equal sleeping at our house. Apparently it equals torn books, wall hangings strewn on the floor, naked boys who try to wipe their own hinies, hand soap on the walls, and toothpaste on the carpet. Oh…and bronze glittery eye shadow from his big sisters not-quite-old-enough-to-wear make-up bag.
As Em walked up the stairs to change so she and I could head to Michael’s for creative inspiration, I heard a scream all the way down in the kitchen. Jason and I locked eyes and both headed up to the unknown.
He told his sister, “Look, I’m brown!”
She didn’t know what to say except scream, “MOM!”
Sure enough, the bronze shadown does wonders for his pasty white winter belly, as well as the creamy white chenille rocking chair where life used to be a mite more subdued and magical, swaddled and snuggled.
Now the magic looks a little different…
We went ahead and watched the helpful video on YouTube of how to clean up the carpet. The ShopVac dumped dirty water twice on the clean, dry spots of his room. I hate carpet. A lot.
But fast forward to him swimming contained in the tub while we cleaned up his room, then smiles and snuggles as we got moose jammies on and headed down for a yummy dinner as a family, holding hands in prayer, thanking God for our food…fast forward to the part where he embraced dancing a little bit more as I threw him atop my shoulders and we danced and raised our glasses like dirty little freaks in the family room, the only people in the neighborhood with our shades up, every day, all the time.
And he laughed and said, “More, more, more!” And I danced and let it out and sweated and hit “repeat” and played other inappropriate songs, and we danced and danced. I danced away the frustration.
Fast forward to the part where he gets to pick three books and we snuggle close and he can practically finish the sentences…and then the part where he shuts the light, plops down real close, we hold hands and I pray. I thank God for creating Ryan Everett Graves. I thank Him for the opportunity to count his toes and trace his ear and nibble his neck and nose. How I get to be his mom and he chooses me, even after he knew I was disappointed with him for not being a team earlier, because I said so, but he chose me to tuck him in, anyway.
And I thank God that, even though 3 is the hardest thing I’ve done in years, he. is. three.
And as I mentally measure the length of his lashes as his eyes slam shut, ones every girl would envy, even this Latisse using mom, I’m carried away to a sweet dreamy place where everything from the day is forgiven, there’s a promise of a new day in the dawn, and in this moment where each breath I take smells of him and it’s all I can do not to hyperventilate with my love for him and my Awe of God,
I speak my thanks to God for this boy who brings my heart immeasurable joy.
And I ask for forgiveness, because life with a toddler, especially one who is a boy, does not allow for a sabbath rest.
But I have a feeling He understands, since He didn’t “do” the sabbath quite like the other guys of His day.