I look into his face sometimes. He lets me still, he’s five years old. His skin, his eyes, his thoughts are clear. He holds me when I hold him. He strokes my cheek like I stroke his. We read. He says ‘another one?’ and I say yes, because he’s warm and he holds my other hand. He laughs like no one else can laugh, and whatever else is in my mind, whatever fears, regrets, or stress, I laugh.
And I’m telling you this, because just now, he has yelled at me, and roared, and stamped his foot and slammed the door.
I love that he stamped his foot.
That’s beautiful!
I do that to D’Arcy sometimes, mostly when he’s asleep these days, but he still loves a good snuggle. Especially in the middle of the night.
aw, your’e a legend.
For doing the comedy, for holding the dog, for stroking the lad and for everything else.
Take my eyes away for five minutes and you get up to all kinds of stuff.
I will buy you a cup of cino if you are in sydney ever, but not this month cos I am in Russia and a bit far away. another time though.
actuall, I think I prefer five to ten. I got an sms to say mine “cryed all night, but in the day I held in my tears”
Awww. Mine runs away from hugs now. I chase him down and he screams blue murder when I kiss him.
Thirteen year olds do the barely brush your lips kiss, with the eyes over your right shoulder checking the horizon for friends who might witness the atrocity.
Eight year olds still cuddle and kiss you enthusiastically.
Eleven year olds don’t kiss ANYBODY. Cos that’s GROSS.
Aww, reminds me of my small grandson. He is still amenable to hugs, kisses & cuddles. I love the little blue veins that shine through his skin, at his temples, & the little whorl of hair beside his ear.
That’s just gorgeous. Even (especially?) the sting in the tail. Spirited children are just wonderful, except in their very most spirited moments, I find.
Helen, my eight year old was refusing kisses and cuddles earlier like that this year and I thought ‘that’s it … it’s over …’ and he came back full circle. So, there’s hope for you too.
I remember vividly mine saying to me once,
“go and hug Dad”. He’s enormous now, but still rather nice. Got him to read some Yeats last night during the Sopranos – and ANOTHER one today. Nearly as good as a hug from an 18 year old.
But posts like yours bring it all back, TC.