Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Sean at 10

I wrote this post months ago.

I don't write very much about my children. Most of the posts have been about outings, or birthdays, and I tend to want to protect their privacy.

But there are some things that I know I will forget about if I don't write them down. All of my kids are amazing, and I love each of them so much, and enjoy their wonderful personalities.

Sean is the youngest. He is very unique. From an early age I could tell he was going to teach me things about myself, and challenge me in ways I hadn't been challenged before.
He is 10 now. He loves what most 10-year-old boys love. Legos, and more Legos. Video games, which I don't really like, but I've decided to stop fighting it. Airsoft guns, and really any kind of gun. I used to fight that, too, and then decided maybe it was a phase and if I gave in and let him have a toy gun or pistol it would wear off. It never wore off. He has an arsenal.
Cars, trucks, and being outside are also some of his favorite things. He has a bicycle, a motorcycle, skateboard, roller skates, and if none of those are appealing at the moment, he'll make his own fun by going outside to dig for worms, or hunt for creatures he's never seen before.
All this is to say he is pretty normal, I believe. Full of energy, curiosity, a passion for all living creatures, including his lovely pet tarantula, Rosie, and a passion to explore.

He has always loved music. Before he could speak, he would hum along with hymns at church. He cried in the car as an infant. He absolutely hated to ride in the car, but one day I put in a classical CD and turned it up, and he quieted down. From that day, I had the CD ready as soon as we got in the car. To this day he enjoys classical music.

When he was a toddler I brought in a variety of instruments. We started with a tiny piano, then a type of string harp, a set of drums and a guitar. He loved all of it, but gravitated to the drums more than the other instruments. And he's pretty good. He hasn't had formal training, he just loves to keep a beat and make up his own.

There are a few things he has said lately that made me want to write this post. I know I've forgotten so many profound things he has said and done over the years, so I want to note these now before I forget them, too.

He enjoys an app on my phone that has little circles that light up and flow down the screen, and as you hit the circles it plays the notes on a piano to play along to popular songs. The other day he changed it to a harpsichord and I didn't really like the sound because he had it too loud. I asked him to change it and said "I don't really like that sound. It sounds like a harpsichord." He responded in a disappointed tone, "It is a harpsichord. I think it's awesome because it totally changes the sound of the song."

Yesterday we were in the car and I had the radio tuned to a public radio station, and it was jazz Monday. I asked him what his favorite types of music are, and he told me a few of them. I asked if he liked jazz, and he said yes, it was OK. He said it was the kind of music you would listen to when you're purple.

I waited for him to explain that. He sometimes associates moods with colors, or feelings with colors. He said it's when you're not really sad, but you're not angry or happy either. And jazz is the kind of music he would listen to when he was feeling purple.

As we arrived home from school one day last week, I pulled up to the mailbox to let him roll down the car window and check the box. I told him it might be empty, because I thought Chuck might be home already. He said he thought so too. "I can kind of feel that he's here," he said. "Do you know what I mean? Do you feel it?"

I do know what he means.




Monday, August 20, 2012

Memories on Monday: A Boy and a Bear

I consider myself one of the luckiest moms in the world. I get to enjoy a relationship with two grown children, and I also have a wonderful little boy who keeps me informed on the latest technology, Legos, Goosebumps books, and has taught me to love snakes and spiders.

I am a sentimental kind of gal, and I have kept a baby book for each child, tried my best to write down the things they were doing at different stages of their childhood, and kept millions of drawings and crafts they did in school and at church.

Though I used to think I was keeping all of those things to give to them when they grow up, I know now those things are really just for me. Each item has a memory attached to it. There are only a few things my mom saved of mine that mean anything to me, and already my grown children have shown they don't have any desire to have most of the things I saved of theirs.

Memories are our own. We remember things differently. I think memories are fascinating. The way we retrieve them and store them is of great interest to me. Recently a television show triggered a memory for me. I was transported back in time to when my oldest son was less than two years old.

He was fascinated with the Snuggle fabric softener bear on the television commercial.  As soon as he heard the voice he would come running into the room to see the bear on TV.

I know he doesn't remember that. He loved it so much that I ordered a stuffed Snuggle bear for him through one of those Sunday mailers that comes with the newspaper.  I'm sure that I could never convince him of how sweet it was to see his reaction to that bear, and I know I could not convince him to see that bear with affection now.

I know that if I try to share this memory with him I will get the inevitable flat, "I don't remember that," response. If I shared that memory it wouldn't mean anything to Dave.

It only means something to me, because it is my memory. And I am so blessed to have a lot of them.