I caught him standing at the front door, looking out at the front yard with his little palms pressed against the cool glass. His breath like little puffs of cotton candy condensation. He didn’t know I was there and I didn’t tell him.
Observing him is such a rare treasure.
I heard his voice, soft and sweet, and I strained to listen into his private conversation with himself.
“Mama goes home, she gets some coffee, she doos a widdle bit of waundry, a widdle bit of work and then she come back…”
He has not been taking to preschool the way we hoped. The school has me on speed dial and I hear him crying in the background that he wants to go “home sweet home.” He says he misses mama and I miss him too. Sometimes the right thing to do is to take a deep breath and be brave, I tell him when I pick him up. He has made me what is easily the greatest paper plate pilgrim hat known to mankind. I put it on the mantle and tell him how proud I am and he beams with pride, but the next time we head to school he cries and begs to stay home. He asks what I do while he is at school and I tell him, assuring him that I absolutely do not have fun without him.
“Mama goes home, she gets some coffee, she doos a widdle bit of waundry, a widdle bit of work and then she come back..”
I smile listening to him repeat his calming mantra. Reassuring himself of what happens at home while he is gone. Finally after the fifth or sixth repetition I can’t stand it any longer. I swoop him up into my arms and say, “Yes! I come back!”
He wraps his arms around my neck, giggling. “Mommy comes back, she always comes back!”
“Yes baby, I will always come back.”
I say a quick little prayer that I will always be there for him and we hold each other tightly, him giving the weight of his little body over to me.
He whispers in my ear again, “Mommy comes back. She always comes back.”
Maybe we will get this preschool thing after all.