Monday, November 09, 2009

Wishing I Had a Magic Pocket Watch

He just looks big because he's wearing my sweatshirt.
At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Tonight the kiddo and I had a little date of sorts. My brother's girlfriend had given me a business card case from Brighton a few years ago, and finally the cover decoration plate had come loose. Did you know that Brighton will fix any of their items for free? I was delighted to discover this. My case was ready for pickup at the swanky mall, so the kiddo and I headed there after work.

He was chatterbox squared tonight, and talking a mile a minute about anything and everything: Bakugan, school, stores he hadn't seen before, pizza, heaters at the food court, etc. It was all I could do to keep up with him, especially since I hadn't been feeling great and had earlier convinced myself I could be having a heart attack, and was finally recovering from some heading-for-significant anxiety. Crazy, I know. Fodder for a different post. (An old friend of mine had a heart attack a couple of weeks ago and I can be a bit suggestible at times.)

As we strolled the mall, a kiosk salesperson tried to get my attention. "No, thank you," I interrupted, perhaps a little sharply. "Good job, Mom!" the kiddo said in wonderment. "That was really good!" Ah, I'm teaching him well, I suppose! Hey, I used to be the nice person who'd give everyone the time of day. Growing up, I thought my mom was so rude to some salespeople. Why did she have to hang up on them or verbally dismiss them when they were just trying to do their jobs? As a mom, I finally get it: My time is my own and no one else gets to decide they can just take up my time with pointless crap. Wow, aren't I the badass tonight? ;^)

Anyway, we eventually found our way back to the food court and grabbed some dinner, eating as we sat under the gas heaters. We didn't talk much at that point, but then we don't always have to. I just enjoyed being in the moment and thanked God for my kid, who's growing so fast. One moment he's scoffing at me for being such a mom, and the next he's telling me he's afraid of elevators (because he knows I would never laugh at such a thing, although I might make him ride a few more elevators with me in the future to get past that fear), and the next he's patting my hair and kissing me on the forehead.

We walked a bit more after dinner and he decided he wanted some ice cream. As he tried to keep it from dripping, I resisted the urge to take it from him and lick it back to manageability, as I might've a few years earlier.

I did, however, grab a napkin and wipe his face once, and he let me. He's still my little boy...for now.