Chris holding Ethan
:: Your dad refused to let me name you Christopher Robin, assuring me that you would not appreciate being named after Pooh’s best friend. As usual, he was right.
:: I walked you to school your first day of first grade at Central. It was so momentous to me…such a watershed. You took it all in stride. A photo of you, sitting at your desk in red-and-white striped shirt, made the front page of The Observer.
:: I drove you to school your first day of second grade at Heidi Ho. You balked. Refused to enter the classroom. Stunned me. My compliant child had the ability to rebel!
:: Back at Central for third grade, there was The Day you grew up. No more goodbye kisses. When I dropped you off, your classmates were loitering on the sidewalk. You leaned left towards me, pivoted right toward your friends, looked back at me, paused, did a vague hand motion, mumbled “Bye…”, and opened the car door. That goodbye ballet is seared in my memory.
:: The out of the blue jolt you will NEVER live down. I’d like to think I forgave you the instant you realized the thrust you gave me. “Mom, if you and Dad ever get divorced, can I live with Dad?”
:: The time I yelled, “Strike him out, Chris! You’ve done it before; do it again!” You informed me later that you had never struck that batter out. My over-the-top baseball mom-ness embarrasses me now.
:: How you drove a truck across the mountain one of your first days working at RD Mac. People tended to assume you were older and gave you responsibilities. And you have carried them faithfully.
:: The horror you expressed at how close you came to saying “whom did you want?” at baseball practice. I would have never lived it down. You caught yourself in time, and, I believe, have never used whom since. I was an obnoxious Grammar Sheriff, wasn’t I?
:: The day I penciled out how buying a house was a good investment. You embraced the idea; within two years you were a homeowner. Never thought it would take so long to sell your investment, huh?!
:: The night you asked Jessie to be your wife. Why, oh why, did I have to be in Portland? But I loved the phone call, the smiles I could hear, the joy. Her love for you is such a gift.
:: The tears you wiped after Preston’s birth reminded me of the tears your dad wiped when he looked down at your newborn face. Tenderness over babies is great grace.
:: The Wild Cow Race this Fourth of July. You in the rodeo? Seriously? After the chutes opened, I don’t think I breathed for three minutes.
Happy Birthday, dear boy. Your broad shoulders are capable. It’s been so much fun watching you grow up.
Carol, this was beautiful… and made me cry thinking of my own little ones who aren’t so little anymore. What a wonderful son you have.
@DebD – Thanks, Deb!
Beautifully written, Carol. Enjoyed immensely.
What a wonderful list to find esp. since mine are still under eight and 30 seems like it could never really come for any of them. I love the humor and tenderness shared in this list. Happy Mother’s Day to you on this August birthday of your son! 🙂
Beautiful, Carol. And as I type I am holding my grandson, born on your son’s birthday.