Some days I wish I wrote about food. Splitting open a crisp red tomato, its lushness spilling across the cutting board. Chopping cucumbers in neat, concise, perfect circles. Crumbling blue cheese over pasta al dente. These...all offered up with a smile and a bon appetit.
Instead my son slips from my grasp like loose spaghetti, and I keep trying to pick up the noodles with my toes. Forgetting that I can still use my fingers.
Please don't slip away, BOY! This is what my fear cries. Because he is still here. Of course he is. But, there is an undercurrent now of crisis, and my heart beats to a discordant rhythm. This week my son was a spool of thread ...unraveling.
He...couldn't focus, up and down, disruptive, noise outbursts, inappropriate...
And I've been there to see it. It is like stepping on tacks without flinching.
Yet today after school there was a calm. A focus. He has a mission. Before his snack he must complete his Reflection form that came home. Because he gave his teacher a pinky promise. He dashed for a pencil and put the words down. One right after another. It was a little flag of HOPE. Waving. I'll be O.K., Mommy. I will.
Tonight he plays Monopoly with my husband and GIRL. Pink cheeked, her eyes shine on her brother. All of them huddled together over their money and property. Hoots and drama.
My BOY is dressed in Scooby Doo pjs and a winter cap with dangling tassles. He is my son and he is precious.
We will wend our way through this new phase. We always do. And it will be alright. But, like cutting into an onion, it is multi layered and brings tears...