Letting the Words Flow
My favorite moment yesterday happened at the end of the day. It was Henry's night to stay up. We had made a turkey centerpiece for Thanksgiving, played with the k'nex basketball net he'd made, and were gearing up to head upstairs to bed. He scrambled into my lap for just a minute. And the words began to flow. He talked about school, about his friends, about the games they play at recess. He told me about conversations he'd had with classmates, books he was reading, things he hoped to do with his friends. I sat there and listened to him talk and let the words tumble out unhindered.
This house is never short on words. Some days the sheer volume of them overwhelms me. I'm hard-pressed to stop and listen to each one. My kids have a lot to say, and some days I struggle to hold my attention with them, without letting my mind wander to the hundreds of other things that crowd my thoughts. I see my kids as they are to me, my children with the history and the traits and the patterns of speech I've always known. But as Henry talked last night, I was given a rare window. I sat there listening like someone looking in on a story. I saw Henry as his friends must see him.
His language changed, and he sounded like an 8-year-old boy playing ninja tag on the playground. His ideas were the simple, innocent ideas of a second-grader. He giggled when he got to the funny parts, and his voice dropped just a little when he talked about the things he didn't especially like. The conversation was punctuated by moments of pure Henry--arms and legs flailing, stolen kisses on my cheek, and plenty of silly comments.
I've known Henry all his life. I know that his friends see him differently, that he's his own person with or without me present. But in the everyday hustle and bustle, I hadn't often seen Henry just as he is now, with the rest of the world. He seemed very grown up, and yet very small. I could have sat listening for hours. I choked a little when he looked up and said, "Well, I should head up to bed, Mama."
I hope there are hours and hours ahead of moments just like this, of letting the words flow, and of seeing a true glimpse of his heart and the person he is becoming. I hope I am never the one to stop the flow of words!
This house is never short on words. Some days the sheer volume of them overwhelms me. I'm hard-pressed to stop and listen to each one. My kids have a lot to say, and some days I struggle to hold my attention with them, without letting my mind wander to the hundreds of other things that crowd my thoughts. I see my kids as they are to me, my children with the history and the traits and the patterns of speech I've always known. But as Henry talked last night, I was given a rare window. I sat there listening like someone looking in on a story. I saw Henry as his friends must see him.
His language changed, and he sounded like an 8-year-old boy playing ninja tag on the playground. His ideas were the simple, innocent ideas of a second-grader. He giggled when he got to the funny parts, and his voice dropped just a little when he talked about the things he didn't especially like. The conversation was punctuated by moments of pure Henry--arms and legs flailing, stolen kisses on my cheek, and plenty of silly comments.
I've known Henry all his life. I know that his friends see him differently, that he's his own person with or without me present. But in the everyday hustle and bustle, I hadn't often seen Henry just as he is now, with the rest of the world. He seemed very grown up, and yet very small. I could have sat listening for hours. I choked a little when he looked up and said, "Well, I should head up to bed, Mama."
I hope there are hours and hours ahead of moments just like this, of letting the words flow, and of seeing a true glimpse of his heart and the person he is becoming. I hope I am never the one to stop the flow of words!
