Time. A gift.
I didn’t make him stay in his seat, or clean his plate, or use his napkin.
I held him on my lap. I fed him spoonfuls of macaroni or chicken, even though he is quite capable of doing so himself. And I sang to him.
Just because I could.
If I stopped, he’d flash those dimples and demand “Mama, SING!”
I missed my oldest son desperately – he’d been gone over a week. Off to The Lake with my parents. But, that time with my youngest was so unique, so precious.
Time. Just time. Time to get in and out of the car, to walk across the street, to eat without rules and family regulations. Time, just like we had with his older brother five years ago, and no one to share it with. No one to argue over which cartoon to watch, or who got to pick the next song on the iPod, or who gets to get in which side of the car.
Everything was slower, last week.
It was a gift. I sang to him while he ate. He tucked his curly head into my shoulder and that moment was mine and mine alone.
One night he abandoned his plate and went in to help Daddy sort nuts and bolts in the garage. A more interesting task than eating.
One night when Daddy had an evening meeting, we skipped dinner altogeher and *gasp* we went to Yogurtland instead. (He had fresh fruit on his. I’m not entirely a bad mommy.) We sat and ate our fro-yo slowly. Enjoying the summer evening. Just us.
It doesn’t matter, I know this – the food will reheat. We’ll work on table manners, nutrition and Family Dinner some other time.
I’m so thankful that he got to be an only child for a week.
I’m linking up today with Chatting at the Sky!