Little boys…

Eat cake and fling the crumbs carelessly onder the bed.
Scatter the playing cards you’ve just picked up like leaves
Dig out the just-planted bulbs with generous handfuls of mud
Squeal gleefully and sit down in the mud.
Run away from you dressed in just a nappy in the middle of winter
Give slobbery kisses….to the dog.
Lick the underside of their shoes thoughtfully and then smack their lips.
Think farting is funny – anywhere, anytime.
Accuse their brothers, mothers or fathers of farting when, in fact, it was them.
Absolutely categorically deny that they have a stinky nappy.
Spray their brothers with underarm spray. In the face.
Pull loose mats from under their brothers.
Climb on kitchen counters to get to the pasta – which they devour uncooked.
Water the paving and then splash in the puddles. With their non-waterproof shoes on.
Cry about the little children who could not save their daddies when you tell the story of the Titanic.
Consider it a personal insult when you wipe their faces or noses.
Hide the cat with them under the covers.
Love starting fires.
Want to sit on your lap just as you start supper.
Want to chase each other on a bike when you want to sit down for some peace, quiet and a cuddle with them.
Cannot get enough of stories.
Chew carrots and spit them out on the carpet.
Only sleep when you need to be awake.
Never want to eat what you are cooking. Only what you made for lunch yesterday.
Develop hunger pangs an hour before lunch is ready.
Fight in the bath.
Wiggle your bum and sing jelly wobble, jelly wobble.
Want to debate something very serious just when you are getting ready to go out.
Refuse to wear a jersey or shoes.
Give the best kisses and hugs in the whole world.

Which is why we love little boys.

Pink clouds

I’m only able to cry when I read someone else’s words of missing. So, I sit and look at the computer screen and while I read another mother’s words I think: Thank you God for not putting us in the position where we had to choose to let him go. I’m reading this mother’s words. This mother who did choose to let go two years ago. And I’m not judging her. I’m just glad that I don’t have to bear that on top of everything else.

There are in fact times when I feel that all that has happened is just too much. I know that crying does not help. The grief goes too deep, too wide. So, I normally escape by not feeling. This time there is momentarily the relief of crying.

“Mamaaa?
Mammaaa?”

I pull my face into a smile. I grab hold of my emotions, pull them back sharply. And I turn and face my living son. The one who never knew his brother, but who points to the photos and squeals in delight.

“Baba! Babaaa!”

To him there is no difference between the three little boys in the photos.

He senses the emotions and looks unsure of himself for a moment, but he’s too young to understand. So I swing him up into my arms.

“Let’s go find the key. Will you help me?”

As I stand in the doorway, looking out over the garden filled with the last light, he points eagerly to the keys on the patio table just outside the door.

“Da. Da!”

I praise him and step outside to fetch the keys. There are pink clouds towards the west as the sun sets and I’m reminded of the first time I pointed out the pink clouds to Marco and saw Loren reacting. He knew clouds, he could see and he wanted to partake in their beauty. I still feel my heart fill with joy at the knowledge.

“Look at the pink clouds!” I exclaim and turn Magnus to face the west.

My blond son looks at me defiantly.

“Blech!” he says. His word for yucky.

I guess pink clouds are not everybody’s taste.