I am cuddled in the wing chair with my littlest, he is winding down for bed, begging for just one more book. We are snuggled in, chatting about our day. He is 2 and he has a lot to say. I tell him how much I love him, how proud I am of him, I tickle him a little to hear his gravely little laugh. He reaches up and touches my nose gently. “Mama?” he whispers. “Yes, Pistachio?” I coo back at him, in love with him and the tender moment we are sharing. “Poopy butt,” he whispers – not because he has one, just because he is 2, those are funny words and he knows how to say them. I laugh.
After a long weekend of fun, activities and probably too much sugar, my oldest is weary. We have brushed, flossed, chatted, read books, and he has had the 4 million after dinner “snacks” he requires. (Seriously, the nicer and more complete the dinner, the more they feel the need to gorge late night on the contents of the fridge.) “Tomorrow is a school day,” I say, peeling back the duvet on my bed, to lead him to his. He groans loudly, overtired and forever complaining about the 20 foot walk from my cozy bed to his. “Let’s go, Sweetie, it is late,” I say, leading the way. I’m surprised when I feel his thin arms encircle me from the back. He hugs me – hip level – and sighs “Mama, I love you.” And the unexpected, nontraditional hug from my grumbling little guy makes my Mother’s Day the best one yet.
I’m perpetually exhausted, but oh what fun it is being mom to these amazing people. It is tiny moments like these that make my heart pop.