Still reeling from the horrific events on Friday, I sat down at my computer several times yesterday to write, but found no words.  

I have a 6-year-old.  He has chubby cheeks and is the age where he marvels at every new thing he learns.  And I can't imagine life without him.  Or his brother and sister.

Today, as I was struggling with Will over what to wear to his performance later today (he wants a white tee shirt; I want something a little more festive; festive is not something an 11 year-old boy wants to hear.  Or wear.) I became totally exasperated and exhausted by the 'round and 'round conversation/battle of wills we were having.  And then I realized...


I'm thrilled to be having this confrontation this morning.  Elated, even!

Because I know there are 20 sets of heartbroken parents who would give absolutely anything to be doing so.

In a total turnaround, I grabbed him and hugged him and sent him on his way with my blessing.  And a slightly wrinkled, too short in the arms tee shirt.

He smiled.  Not the smile of a victor, but a smile that said "thanks, mom."

Perhaps he thought he'd won, and he'd be right.  He did.

But so did I.


Anonymous said…
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

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