dear singing son ….

Dear Wilde Fox of an Otto,

I held your hand while falling asleep in bed beside you.

My left hand in your right hand.

It was neither comfortable nor convenient.

Criss crossed and upside down (because you prefer the right thumb to suck at night).

But I never let go because I didn’t want to.

My son.

I carried you piggy back on the return walk from the marina.

It was neither necessary nor easy.

You are now nearly fifty pounds of heavy and your dirty shoes were brushing against my clean jeans.

But you asked for a ride and you offered kisses as payments

and I had no desire to say no.

You.  Are.  So.  Easy to love.

So easy to mother.

So quick to affection and sweet cuddles and you request them on a daily basis as if they are treasures and you use cuddle as a verb and that makes my heart puff and grow and seize up right inside my chest.

Throughout the day you fill our home with song.

Bits and pieces of music and lyrics in your six-year-old voice that lift on the air lighter than the dust particles that float between our walls.

You sing and I grin and who could even stand a chance against the Happy you toss around here.

Your first choice of lyrics today was a Lauren Daigle song that’s been playing on our family airwaves for months.

When You don’t move the mountains I’m needing You to move,
When You don’t part the waters I wish I could walk through,
When You don’t give the answers as I cry out to You –
I will trust, I will trust, I will trust in You!

Your voice plus those words and my heart doesn’t know where to hide.

You’re pushing matchbox cars around and you’re coloring popsicle sticks to sell in the foyer and you are just singing all the while.

I step into the kitchen and on the counter is my water glass.

The one I use all day, every day.

And it’s filled with ice and up to the brim with cold water and I didn’t pour that refreshing liquid in and I know you have tiny man hands and a little man heart and you thought about your momma and met my need before I asked and I just don’t know how to wrap my brain around that simple and pure affection and service from this boy who hasn’t even mastered tying your own shoes or remembering to brush your own teeth but a boy whose heart is bent to helping his family and singing his joy songs and I know I am the one whose fortune is so great to be called your mother.

I hear you there.  Up and down the steps and in and out of the house.  To the chicken coop carrying the heavy compost bowl with twisted apple peelings from making applesauce this morning.  I hear you sing and I see you bounce.

We’ve found a new band recently and you love them.

The Hunts.

Brothers and sisters.  Previously homeschooled, now grown ups.

And there’s a bit of a piece of a song you love and you sing it on repeat –

It’s amazing, it’s amazing.
Isn’t it crazy, isn’t it crazy that you and me are both in this world?
It’s amazing, it’s amazing.
Isn’t it crazy, isn’t it crazy that you and me have found one another?

I drink my ice cold water and I strain my ears to follow the sound of your footsteps up and down the stairs as you finish your morning chores and I adore the lilt of your voice as you sing isn’t it crazy that you and me are both in this world?.

I sigh and say out loud to the kitchen walls –

Yes.  Yes it is, son.