believes.

My day is filled (and I mean filled) with requests to “look at this”.

Bergen loves to call my attention to important matters.

Such as

“Mom, I found Sparks (a much-loved, frequently-misplaced-because-he-is-rather-small stuffed puppy that was once Riley’s).”

“Hey, Mom – check this out.  One scab on my knee is gone and just pink but the other is still big and puffy.”

“Look at this truck – can you believe how high it jumps?  Look at it again.  It does it every time.”  (All twenty-seven times.  Yes.  It certainly does, son.)

“Mommy – watch Flapjack’s eyes in this cartoon.  London, can you rewind that?  Mommy has to see his eyes.  They’re hilarious!”

“Wow, Mommy.   Look at this dinosaur.  They drew blood all over his teeth.”

“Mommy, I can stand on my leg like this – watch.”

And so on.

But Bergen isn’t narrating his day just for narrating’s sake.

Here’s the thing.

Bergen believes

really believes

with all of

his fist-sized boy five-year-old heart

that what he is telling me is important

and

therefore

he believes

really believes

with all of

his fist-sized boy five-year-old heart

that I care about what he says.

Bergen

believes

that I love him.

And he

believes

that that love

will make the news he has to share

important to me too.

Because Bergen

really believes

that that’s how love works.

And I

really believe

that Bergen

is right.

My boy is not trying to distract me with his wild thoughts.

He is not trying to keep me from getting my tasks at hand completed

with his daily actions and announcements.

Bergen

likes

me.

And he wants to share his day with me.

Shame on me

for thinking like a grown up.

There is a little boy here who is inviting me into his life.

Into what he treasures most – daring feats, sharks, scabs, dinosaurs, laughter.

And I want that little boy

to believe

really believe

with all of his fist-sized boy five-year-old heart

that

his mommy

loves him too.