It’s funny how a story or a memory sneaks up on you. This morning, as I was trying to leave for the gym, both kids needed to ask me something. Their father is standing right there, next to them. Yet they need to ask me. This man who has changed diapers, taken them fishing, cooked 95% off the meals that have kept them alive, and will be taking them to school was not allowed to answer any questions. So late to my class I was, all to answer questions he could have.
Which reminded me of this sweet moment in time with my youngest.
My house has an open floor plan. When you walk in the front door, you enter the family room. The living room is up four steps to your left, the kitchen/dining is straight ahead and up four steps. Beyond that are the kids bedrooms (six steps). My bedroom is up another six steps from that. I joke that it is a tudor on the outside, a split level in the middle and a two story at the back. There are no walls until you go upstairs to the kids bedrooms.
My son, who was 8 at the time, wanted a glass of milk. He was in the living room. He walks up 4 steps to the kitchen, walks through the kitchen and up 6 steps to his bedroom level. He turns and goes up 6 more steps to find me. I am in my room folding laundry.
“Mom, can I have a glass of milk?”
“Sure, go get it.”
“Why can’t you? I’m folding laundry. Where is your father?”
“It’s too heavy. Please can you help.”
“Where is dad?”
“Ok. Give me a minute.”
He goes downstairs and starts pulling out a glass and the gallon, which was full. I enter the kitchen to see my husband cooking dinner.
“Have you been here the whole time?”
“Jack walked past you to ask me for a glass of milk, and to get it for him.”
To which Jack smiled and said, “I didn’t see dad.”
So this morning when only mom answers will do, I was reminded of this moment, when only mom pouring the milk will do.