The Sweetness of Sunday

Posted on | October 30, 2011 | 6 Comments

I made a pact with myself to attempt to limit J to the recommended two hours of television a day this weekend.

On Saturday we frosted cookies with our fingers and painted/carved pumpkins.  We played in the back yard and in the front yard, and in the living room.  We built towers and colored and went for a walk.  In short, by Saturday evening, I was flat out exhausted. I went to bed at 7:30 with J and we slept straight until 6:30 Sunday morning.

Facing the prospect of an identically exhausting day was daunting.  I wasn’t sure there was enough coffee in the world to get me through. As I made my coffee, I thought about how much easier it would be if there was someone else to help and then wondered, as I often do these days, if there would ever be anyone else, ever again.   

It was cold out so we bundled up and headed outside to play. I was already tired and frustrated with all the “why” and “no” and “MINE” that I’d been hearing for two days straight alongside the requests for “TV” or “movie.”  I was teetering on the edge of a really big pity party where I was the only guest.  I’ll admit, I went outside to play with J VERY reluctantly.  I wasn’t having it.  I was tired.  I wanted a few hours to myself that didn’t involve cleaning, cooking, or picking up toys. 

I stood outside and watched him play for a while, smiling when I needed to smile, saying “yes” and “okay” and “oh wow” on cue.  I don’t know what it was, maybe the coffee kicked in, but I looked at my son and I mean really looked at him.  He’s getting so tall and his hair is so curly.  He sings constantly and loves to “drump” instead of “jump.”   He’s growing and changing so much every day that I can barely remember the feeling of him tucked and swaddled in my arms. 

And then my sweet, wonderful son reached out his hand and grabbed mine and sang me a song about walking around and around a tree.  He let go of my hand, grabbed the light pole in the front yard and spun around so many times that he got dizzy and fell to the grass, laughing.  For a moment, watching him there, I could almost remember how it felt to believe the world was no bigger than my yard.  I could almost remember when no one knew more or better than my mother.  I could almost remember feeling that carefree, feeling that safe… feeling that loved.

I dropped down beside him, laying my head against his and staring up at the sky.  He picked up a pine needle and pulled the needles apart one by one “One for Mommy, one for J” and then handed me a red leaf.  “Make ’em dance!” he cried and he shook them at the sky.

We must have laid there for a good five minutes, watching the clouds roll by.  I asked him what he saw there, and in the completion of my heart and my world, he smiled, his curls twisting and turning amongst my hair and the soft blades of grass.

“I see Mommy and J!” He pointed at the sky, his voice clear and perfectly his.

And suddenly, yeah… that’s just what I saw.  Mommy and J.

And that was more than okay with me.


6 Responses to “The Sweetness of Sunday”

  1. Jana Anthoine
    October 30th, 2011 @ 6:23 pm

    Girl. You make me cry with every post. This is just so sweet <3

  2. Anonymous
    October 30th, 2011 @ 7:21 pm

    aww.. toddlers are exhausting and this was super sweet.

  3. Kinnison
    October 31st, 2011 @ 12:16 am

    Amazing. Thank you for putting into words what I, too, have felt in my heart!

  4. Heather Davies Bernard
    October 31st, 2011 @ 10:21 am

    Ah — this post just made my heart soar and ache at the same time. Thanks for sharing.

  5. MaconMom
    October 31st, 2011 @ 11:12 am

    Thank you so much for writing! You make me want to run and get monkey from daycare and hug and play with him all day long.

    Hope we can all make another mommy and kids play day soon!

  6. Maija @ Maija's Mommy Moments
    October 31st, 2011 @ 12:02 pm

    We all have those moments! The ones where we could care less and then couldn’t care more, alternating within a split second because of a look, a word, or a chubby little hand reaching out for ours.

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