So we’re riding to school this morning, and it’s a race against the clock, really it is, because Bill discovered at the last minute that he had a conference call and so suddenly I was making the lunches on top of the other stuff and because Everett forgot that it was uniform day and so– again at the last minute– we were hunting for khaki shorts (yes it was warm enough) instead of khaki pants and we just basically got off to a late start.
And this is the sort of thing that would make a child other than William annoyed, because on Thursdays he Has to be at school at 8:00 a.m. sharp because he serves on Safety Patrol. But he never once complained to me at all, and even (at one point) helped Everett search his closet for the (missing) khaki shorts while I was in the kitchen spreading mayonnaise on bread.
Yes, William Never Complained Once about the inevitability of our tardiness, but instead noted with glee that we went through several (at least two) yellow lights, and every time he kissed his hand and hit the ceiling with it and made a wish (because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you go through a yellow light, did you know?).
No, he never complained but instead said something– just casually, just suddenly, lightly– that really Made Me Feel Good. And it wasn’t relevant to anything, and he wasn’t trying to get anything; he was just remarking, just saying, just speaking up out of the blue.
“You know,” he said, “I have now seen the mom of every single person in my class,” he said, and this might be due to the fact that his class took a field trip to the North Carolina Museum of Art yesterday, and so mothers who were heretofore unseen suddenly revealed themselves in the form of drivers for the field trip. At any rate, he has now Seen Them All. “I’ve seen everybody’s mom in my class,” he said, “and you are the prettiest one.”
Well.
That’s what he said. My son said that. Unsolicited, unlooked for, this gift bestowed by a ten-year-old boy.
I think I’m going to remember that for the rest of my life.
