The Time When

Often Judah and I will have a big chunk of the day to ourselves because Judah's school has a ton more days off than Noah's preschool.

Our tradition on those days, like this past Monday, is to drop Noah off at preschool and walk to the Starbucks across the street for breakfast.

Happiness is a bagel with cream cheese and just the two of us.

I don't know if it's the pastries or the company that makes Judah so radiantly happy during those times. But he is as happy and content as I've ever seen him then.

"Mommy, can we have a conversation?" he asks.

"Sure."

"Mommy, who do you think is stronger, the blue bionicle or the green bionicle?"

As you can tell, it's not the most scintillating conversation for me, but I love how open his heart is during those moments. If I wanted to instruct him or impress something on him, that would be the time to do it. That day I told him I was cutting down his precious TV time in half (it had ballooned from 1 show a day to 2 shows) and instead of the expected meltdown, he accepted it with equanimity and even grace.

"Okay mommy, I don't want to watch too much TV."

As Judah gets older, I'm realizing that the openness of his heart is what I'm most afraid of losing. He has always loved me with abandon and banishing any sadness or pain was as easy as having huggle snuggles on the couch. Literally, that's all it took.

But will it always be that easy?

Will my love always be enough?

Judging from the surly anger of every teenager that has ever lived, no.

It's a horrible, dreadful, creeping realization that I will recede and other forces - cultural and social - will loom larger.

The boy who occasionally tells me - Mommy, I'm sad I'm not a girl because then I can't ever be a mommy like you - will be no more.

But he will still have my heart forever.