“You got me out of bed so we could pick up Thai food – so you wouldn’t have to leave the car!”
This is true. I mean – I’m in my PJs and knock-off Uggs and my hair is covered but I don’t think I have makeup on? See, I am okay with walking from the car to my house, but not so much standing outside, in public, waiting for food.
“Yes, Nels. You told me to be honest, I’m being honest.” It’s the last day I can get takeout here, before the restaurant takes a month’s hiatus.
“You made me get up and get going early!”
“Nels… it’s TWO-THIRTY PM.“
This child.
My eldest is on their spring break after a full quarter. They sleep all kinds of hours, on a lopsided schedule. So my job mostly consists of trying to feed them, cuddling them, taking them on little road trips, reminding them to do a few chores, and maybe buying them little treats now and then.
My son though, that’s another story. He is up late with me, then sleeps in. He is my little shadow, as he’s been his whole life; if I’m still up and working he’s next to me, pressed up against my side and playing on his Wii U. If I’m in bed watching something he’s snuggled on my right, trying not to wake his father, whispering in his gorgeously harsh voice – sometimes on topic with what we’re watching, sometimes telling me of the worlds he and his friends have created, whether online or in the backyard. Then up to bed into his bed tent where he listens to music and puts on a cheerful set of lights.
He turns thirteen in a few days. His father and I are working hard to find him the video console he wants. I’ve got a few other gifts secured. I’m taking him and his buddies swimming, and then for pizza, and a movie.
Maybe there’s nothing more I like than those special things for my kids.
The basement studio is finally warming up; I am sewing, making clothes for babies, and children, and clients. Today, out the door: a pair of custom pajamas and a stripey hat.
Stripes cheer me up. Ready for spring.
