Hey Rowan! Rowan……Woohoo…..Roooooowan. Remember me, your mother? No? i din’t think so. That’s okay. It only hurts a little bit, but I understand thtat the only people you really want to hang out with are that ones that don’t make you brush your teeth or clean your room or eat your vegetables. While you can’t fault someone for just doing their job, you can ingore them and pretend they don’t exist, especially when they are repetitively calling your name in various levels of pitch. In case you were lost by this point, it’s me. Mommy, or “mom” as I am so reluctantly called. I stand firm by the fact that I am too young to be called anything other that Mommy or mamma.
The past few days you have been out and about-either playing with 12 year old Emily up the street, hanging out at your friend’s house , or spending time with Baba at the go-cart, the playground by the river, or going out to lunch. You’ve been coming home everyday filthy, famished, and exhausted, and with stories that take so much time and breath to tell that you have to sit down RIGHT NOW! and probably split a Popsicle and move outside to the porch where you have much more room to flair your arms with the wonder of the day. As soon as we were settled on the front porch swing, the stories start, ones about trading bikes in the barn, to the cow having a calf, to going out to lunch, or having ice cream, but by the time you get to seeing the go carts, and I was just about to get a proper hug out of you, you remembered there was a worm in the driveway that had only been run over two full times, and a third would certainly seal the deal. So my purple-lipped tornado of energy and purpose charged by, mounted his bike and repeatedly ran over that worm, until is was declared “Dead and ready to eat.”
So as no need to interrupt such an important ritual , I’ll just watch from a distance, feeling my heart claw it’s way into my stomach every time you start to slip. You correct your position, and push on, riding off into the car port to start the next phase of your plan.
So until your chores are done, the worms are squished, and Bob the turtle had been picked up an put down so many times, he just stayed in his shell until you were was safety across the street tormenting a caterpillar, I’ll wait.
I joined you a few moments later, but you were already involved with grilling with Bape. I’ll just say it now. I love you Sweet Potato. I’m looking forward to another day with you. ……even if you forget I’m here. 🙂