Seven

Dear Abe,

You are seven now. It’s really hard for my brain to get wrapped around this. For some reason seven seems so old, and of course it is. It is the oldest you have ever been. The oldest child I have ever had. I see the baby I once had in your face, but more and more I see the man you will become.

You are thoughtful, as you always were, but maybe now more intense. Maybe, now that you are getting older, wiser, I notice the thought in your questions and your comments. Sometimes I really wish I could just get inside that head of yours and see the world the way you do.

You are a good student, but you get frustrated easily. Now that you are in first grade you have homework every night, and you get really frustrated when things don’t come to you easily and quickly. Last night, some math problems resulted in tears and you wanted to give up because it was too hard.  (DUDE. To say I have been through that is an understatement. It was like I was staring at a tiny me (minus the glasses)). As I was trying to calm you down, through your tears you asked, “Mama, what did you do to your vegetables when you didn’t want to eat them when you were little?”

?????

I stared at your blankly for a minute. Confused as to where the heck this question was coming from. “What?? What are you talking about?”

“What did you do with your vegetables? You know, when you didn’t eat them. Daddy told me to ask you.”

Then the story came back to me (and I will tell it in its entirety – believe me it has a point):

When I was about Abe’s age, and Robby was Sam’s age, one night we had chili for dinner. I liked chili, but HATED the beans. Because beans were gross. But my mom and dad said we had to eat it all. And, because I was rule-following kid, I figured I had to make the beans disappear. So, one by one, I placed the beans on my napkin next to my bowl. I am not sure how I was able to manage this, because I don’t think as a six year old I was very discreet, but that is beside the point. I had managed to finish the chili, and also managed to collect a handful of beans in my napkin. Now, I needed to figure out what to do with them. Because, I was pretty smart, I knew that putting them in the trash can was a dumb move. So, I folded up the tiny bean napkin, shoved it in my pocket and ran upstairs to little Robby’s bedroom. I opened up the closet door and threw them inside. Turned around and never thought about those beans again, until my mom discovered them weeks later, and totally blamed Robby.

Now, at this point I was waiting for you both to laugh, but Sam was pretty much asleep and you are pretty stone-cold about what you think is funny (minus slapstick humor. At least Sam laughs at the funny viral videos about what a fox says). So, I added one, small detail that happens to be my favorite part of the whole story, to see if you would break.

I said, “And, the one thing I remember is the way the beans splatted against the wall and slid down to the floor.” With that, you started giggling hysterically. And, my heart filled a thousand times over.

Every day I walk you into school, up the stairs to your classroom. I asked you at the beginning of the school year if I will be able to just do drop off at the front. And you told me, “Maybe next month.” Today, as I was walking you into the building, you turned, looked at me and said, “Mama, today you can just walk me to the stairs, and I can walk up them by myself.” I nodded okay. When we got to the stairs I said, “Hold on, I want to give you a kiss. Or … are you too cool?” You looked at me and said, “Mama, I am not too cool.” You let me kiss your head, and then up the stairs you went confidently, by yourself.

You may think you are not cool, but Abe, you are the coolest person I know.

Love,
Mama