Saturday was the first down day we had as a family in a very long time.
I slept in. I ate cookies at 10 o’clock in the morning. I lounged around in my pajamas later than I do any other day of the year. I read. Ate some more. I puzzled with my 13-year-old. I talked to one of my dearest and oldest friends for 19 minutes in which we were able to cover the past and present, touched on theological ideas and books and looked fondly and lovingly into each other’s eyes over FaceTime. Around 3:30pm my husband put out a charcuterie tray and wine and the four of us listened to jazz and talked. It was the most glorious of lazy days.
But the best, the absolutely best thing to happen that day was around 5:30pm. I started Hitchcock’s Vertigo on the television and my 14-year-old asks if he can watch and snuggle with me. My 14-year-old started high school this year. He has jumped in easily from his Catholic school of less than 200 to this public high school with over 1700. He plays trumpet in the band which means in the last few weeks he has been gone several evenings a week playing basketball games. He goes to jujitsu three times a week, the gym twice a week and on the weekends, he volunteers with teens on the spectrum at our parish. He has lots of friends. On Fridays or Saturdays when he is not at a basketball game, you can find him at a friend’s house watching movies, making food and goofing around.
But at 5:30pm he asked if he could snuggle up next to me. He used to fit so easily on my tummy when he was a baby or even in the crook of my arm in past years, but he is now taller than me, and on Saturday it took him a while to find a spot where he still fit. Propped with a pillow he found a place where he could snuggle in and before Hitchcock made his cameo in the film, my son was out. He was fast asleep. And I was pinned under him.
My right arm began to throb and then tingle until all the feeling was lost. I couldn’t have wiggled my fingers if I wanted to. All the circulation was cut off. But I didn’t mind. It has been a very long time since my son has fallen asleep on me. And I am unsure if he ever will again.
I ruffled his hair with my one good hand and remembered how good his little head used to smell when he was a baby. And now here he is, with this Scottish Highland Cow mop of hair and the muscles he likes to compare with his brother. He needs me less and less and I’m proud of that. This means my husband and I are doing a good job. He is becoming the man we have raised him to be. I am happy to be pinned under my exhausted child while watching Scotty follow Carlotta around the streets of San Fransisco in sensational Technicolor.
This one belongs in the book !
I love the description of the latest teen boy hairstyle!