Wednesday, July 11, 2007
these happy golden years
The little blighters are bound to cause me untold headaches and heartaches through the years, but just now my children are still innocents. They are sweet-natured. They say adorable things. They haven't yet learnt to hate their parents.
Laura is prone to leave me notes on the bedside table when she's done something wrong. The words fill me with sorrow and remorse, as I read her plaintive,"Mummy I'm sorei wehn I was beeing bad". The experienced parents reading this will now be nodding sagely and intoning, "Ah! She's got you!". I fully admit the cute apology note sucks me in every time. I am reeled in - regretful, and forgiving, and vowing never to be such a crabby mother again. Until the next time those kids annoy me.
Benjamin doesn't bother much with apologies. His tactic is to charm the pants off me, as a sort of a preemptive strike. He schmoozes and compliments. He snuggles and kisses. Yesterday, he hugged my back energetically as I bent over to help him with his shoes, telling me, "Oh, I love you Mummy. Why would I ever love anyone more than you?". You've got to admire this kid. He's got the smarmy lines. He'll tell his girlfriends that they have hair like silk, and lips like rose petals and eyes like shining stars. It's all becoming clear.
I am trying to savour every embrace and enjoy every crayon-adorned message. I know teenagers don't touch or talk nearly as much as little ones do. If I get more than the odd grunt and occasional pat from my adolescent children, I'll count myself lucky.
So today, and every day, I am thankful for these small children - my kind, soft-cheeked Laura, and my loving, grinning Ben. They bring so much laughter and new light to my life. And I don't care if they have me in the palms of their sweaty little hands. Wrapped around their sticky little fingers. I'm a willing victim, I'm a captive audience, and, above all, I'm their besotted mother.