May I please be excused? My heart is full.

I lift Bug out of his bed after naptime. With hair all tousled and floppy and eyes full of playground sand, he fits his head into the crook of my neck. Like I do every day after his nap, I ask him if he wants a snack, thinking I already know his answer. Instead, he says, “I want to go outside,” into my shoulder, and softly swings his legs on either sides of my hips. “Let’s get you into some play clothes,” I say, and we open his drawer.

“I want the silver shirt,” he says, pointing to a heather gray sweatshirt. For Bug, gray does not exist. “Because I like silver.” I slip it over his head. “That was easy,” he says with a grin. A boy with a head circumference in the ninety fifth percentile pays attention to these things.

We walk through the kitchen, heading for the back door. Bug stops. “I want a snack for outside,” he decides. “And let’s put it in a pink bowl. Because you like pink.” And he hugs my leg.

(For the record, pink isn’t my favorite color, but Bug has always insisted it was, and for him, I’d agree if he said my favorite color was doo doo brown.)

“Bug, you want some juice to drink with your snack?” He thinks, head cocked to one side. “No, I’m ok,” he says, like he’s all of a sudden an aloof teenager.

I hand him his snack laden pink bowl. “Thank you,” he says, and heads toward the back door. “Now I’m gonna go outside and eat my snack and wait for my Daddy to come play with me.”

He walks outside and happily settles himself down on the back stoop to eat and wait, warmed by the sun and comforted by his certainty that soon, Daddy will come out to join him.
snack on the steps

October 22, 2007   5 Comments