This is new, using "I" instead of "me." Another baby quality, disappearing before my eyes. Big Bad Wolves are no small creatures, is the thing. He announces his bigness everywhere. I blow you down! If you're lucky, there's little drool in the blowing. If you're lucky, those wolf paws aren't to sticky when he pushes you to the ground. Lie down, Mommy! No you have your knees up! Put your feet down!
He's a determined but snuggly Big Bad Wolf. Once you're supine, he crawls atop for hugs. We lay that way on Sunday on the kitchen linoleum because I had been rehanging a dishtowel on the oven handle when he wolfed me. It was the dishtowel that he pulls down to the ground every time he sees it hanging; apparently I never learn. We looked up and saw a terrible image: in the glass dome of the light fixture a large spider was walking in circles. Stuck, I assume, and not at all small. "How did that thing get in there?" I wondered out loud and the usually-lovely husband said, "probably the same way that water leaks into that fixture -- from our bathroom."
The girls astonished me yesterday and again today, doing something they've never exhibited interest in before and asking to do it again. It solidified a hard decision that the aside-from-spiders lovely husband and I have been pondering for months. It's a decision where what's best for the kids is clear, but not easy for the adults. We haven't faced hurdles like that before. My adult heart is no tougher than a kid's, especially when even wolves want snuggles. But life marches forward and we'll have to act on our tender thoughts.
The boy kept a strange sleep schedule today, and long after the girls were in bed there he was, roaring at me around the house. We fell to the linoleum, this boy who needs his energies tickled out of him sometimes and this mama who can expend her leaky emotions best through excessive child tickle-snuggles, and he exhorted me to put my legs flat, but not so fast that I couldn't grab the local fallen dishtowel for a pillow first. It can't be dirtier than his grubby fingers, entangling my hair, reaching for my ears, showing his love through his complete confidence that I won't let his head crash to the ground as he wiggles and flails and dares me with his wild wolfiness.
It took two days, but the spider isn't encircling anymore. There's a big brown blob at the bottom of the dome.
We've all been off since Friday for the end of this season of Jewish holidays but tomorrow is back to school and back to work for everyone. These hiatuses (hiatii?) from the mechanics of living always bring our priorities into focus acutely as we spend more hours together as a family and ignore bills to be paid and laundry to be folded and carcasses to be vacuumed away. Tomorrow we go back to laundry and memo-writing and plan-enacting and the dailiness of life. Life marches forward
(except for the spider).