Inside His Head

Every morning my son wanders in and throws his arms around me in a giant bear hug. I usually get a couple of minutes of this treatment before he’s on to other things. I always ask him how he slept. Generally, his answer is fine… or good… or on occasion he comes up with some lengthy story about how he slept so horribly that it was almost like he didn’t get any sleep at all. On those days he will often crawl into my bed and snuggle under the covers. He rarely goes back to sleep. Usually he peppers me with stories and questions and, in general, brings an end to my productive morning hours. It’s okay. This is part of why I stay home with my kids… to take advantage of these leisurely hours when I can enjoy just hanging out with them and listening to whatever is going on inside their heads.

This morning, he crawled up on my lap and it really struck me how little time I have left for this particular morning greeting. My eight-year-old usually greets me with kind of a lean and a hug these days. My eleven-year-old gives me a pat on the back and a peck on the head if I am lucky. At six, my son is just barely still in the willing-to-cuddle stage and physically, he’s nearly more than I can manage.

So I told him how much I love these good morning hugs and that I hoped he never grew out of them. With a smile, he replied that of course he’d always have hugs for me. Until he moves out, that is. Which would be as soon as is possible, he concluded.

What?

Knowing that he didn’t intend to mortally wound me, I asked him to clarify.

Well, Mom, he said. I’m not going to be like one of those boys on TV. You know, the ones who live with their moms when they grow up. Cause, you know…girls just don’t go for that.