Writing with Rox Weekly Prompt—A Hug from my Son (your everyday grateful)

This morning something wonderful happened before I drove Jude to school. In the spare hurried moments before we headed down to the car, I suddenly, rather whimsically, kneeled down on the kitchen floor and gave my boy a hug. Wonderful is that he hugged back. There, in the narrow space between the sink and the stove, we hugged each other, leaning in, cheek-to-cheek, resting, being.

Moments prior, we found ourselves in the usual morning routine of  standing in the kitchen, him a good few feet below me, milling around on his kiddie plane, every bit as busy as I am a few stories up, packing up his lunch, filling my Dunkin' Donuts coffee mug, reciting aloud what I need to remember to do next, to write down, etc. Amidst that stream of morning ritual, I suddenly remembered that about eight hours ago, my boy awoke in a flurry of tears, eyes wide and aching for understanding. "Okay Mama? Okay?"

Okay, what? But sure, honey, okay...whatever you need.

I was afraid the screams might wake the neighbors. When I attempted to comfort him, he recoiled. He scratched at his dinosaur sleeping bag like a cat to the leg of a couch. "I want to go first HERE!" he said, pointing at his sleeping bag for emphasis.

"Jude, it's okay, honey... you're dreaming. Come back to bed..."

"You come back to bed!" he demanded, standing in the doorway.

I did.



"Do you remember last night, Jude?" I later asked him. "Probably not," I answered, grateful when his playful morning eyes revealed no recollection of the nightmare he'd been wrestling with at midnight.  His big blue wide wondering eyes, deemed once "blue headlights" by his dad, were back to normal.

Was it that I never noticed before? Never noticed how soft his young cheek skin is? Never felt his little tough boy body surrender and soften into my open embrace, into the center of my heart? Never noticed his tiny little fingers wrapping beneath my curls and twirling them around for comfort? Had I never truly seen his softly falling blue eyes fighting to stay open just to catch one more sight of me before the next blink? Had I really never recognized that the little hands reaching back for me were outstretched all along?

Like many parents, it's easy to doubt my value and competency as a mother, especially when little JJ is screaming at me, fighting me, calling me "snothole," resisting my parental discipline and affection. It's easy to take all his five-year-old moodiness, anger and confusion personally, and to berate myself, at worst, believing someone could be doing a much better job at this. This morning I realized the toxicity of that doubt and why I must never doubt my role again. I am grateful that I took myself seriously as a mother this morning. It reminded me that I have missed way too many hugs from this young, much too-rapidly growing boy, who could easily outgrow the need for hugs like this if I forget how much he needs them. How much we both do. How much we all do.



What is your everyday grateful? What have you forgotten to be grateful for?