This past Thursday I received a phone call from someone I hadn't heard from in a long, long time: the school nurse. Evidently my eldest son was having stomach problems, was very pale, and the nurse felt I should probably come and pick him up. I was more than happy to do so because, you see, I got to be his Mommy again.
Now that my son is twelve years old, he likes to do things by himself. No more quizzing him on spelling words, picking out his clothes, helping him with his reports. I am now "Mom" spoken in a voice that seems to lower by the minute, and I notice that, while he speaks nonstop with his friends, having a conversation with his parents is akin to torture.
But, on Thursday he was all mine! I got to tuck him into bed, plump his pillows, make him tea, and even kiss him on the forehead . . . all without protest. We watched television together, talked about school, and laughed at his three year old brother who was getting more than a little jealous. And later in the afternoon, as I was handing him yet another cup of tea, he thanked me and told me he loved me.
Despite the pesky little stomach problem, it was a good day for both of us.