I write in my journal every day. I blog nearly every day, sometimes more than once a day. I keep an occasional journal for Simon (and plan to start one for Oliver soon, too). And yet I feel as if I am doing a woefully inadequate job of recording my children’s lives. These days I am strongly tempted to put a bug on Simon and record every little thing he says. He is hilarious and intelligent, patient and demanding, a little parrot who is ridiculously good at mixing things up to invent his own, fresh material. Unfortunately, even the comments that had me in stitches at the time elude my tired mom-brain at the moment. I suppose that’s why the boy needs a bug.
It’s not just his words that crack me up and make me want to cry. At times he is such a little boy — like today when he hid under a clothing rack at Macy’s because he was so upset that Micah had to go back to work and couldn’t keep shopping with us. And other times he is so mature — like today when he managed to keep it together when I got turned around in Downtown Brooklyn and ended up taking the long way to the store, or when we waited for the bus for half an hour before he decided it wasn’t worth it and encouraged me to give it up and take us to the train station already. The whole way from the bus stop to the train station he couldn’t tell me enough how “frustrated” he was with having to wait so long in the cold, and with falling down, and with having to walk to the train station anyway.
He was tough and brave and picked himself right back up when he fell while running down the street (twice), and then he came home and put a “bandage” (he won’t call it a band-aid — he corrects himself every time) on the hurt knee . . . of his pants. And then he was silly and fun as he jumped and did “one hundred” different kicks and twists while airborne.
He’s getting to be such good company these days. And so entertaining as well.