After a particularly fretful morning last week, I put my son on the school bus, waved goodbye and thanked my lucky stars we had survived the morning.  One argument after another, feet dragging, you name it, we had it going on that morning and I was sure we would be too late.  Or that he would wake the baby in his attempts to put brakes on the morning’s progress.  One way or another, the wheels fell off the wagon, and we were both so frustrated we could barely speak.

What is it about mornings that make me want to jab sharp sticks in my eyes?  I love my son. He loves me.  I have no doubt about either one of these facts, but trying to get him going in the morning is enough to make me lose my mind.  I have tried to set up a schedule that works; I get up early so that I am ready ahead of time, he wakes early enough to get everything done.  I also know that he enjoys his school, and is always happy when I collect him from the steps of the school bus at lunch.

And such was the case when I went out to meet him that day.  He got off the bus, hat on crooked with one eye half covered and the other squinting in the sun.  He had a big smile, a story to tell and a full backpack.  I remembered our mildly traumatic morning and decided to shake it loose.  I took a deep breath, gave him a big hug and whispered in his ear “Hi honey, I love you.”  He beamed back at me and I continued.  “I’m so happy to see you, sweetie.”  We waved to the driver, and made our way up the driveway.

He stopped and looked up at me, and smiled.  It was as though the morning had never happened.  He took my hand to pull me down closer and whispered back, “I like that.  When you call me honey, and sweetie, it makes me happy.  It makes me feel all good in my feelings.  It’s sweet and good like…like candy.”  And he skipped toward the door.

What were we fighting about?  Nothing.  I couldn’t remember.  Sometimes this is how we get through the days.