Something I’ve come to enjoy each day I owe to homeschooling. No, it’s not the audiobooks that we’ve been listening to together lately. (Though they are quite wonderful–who knew that at my age I’d still love being “read” to?) And it’s not that I don’t have to go running out for posterboard or glitter or sticks for the glue gun at the last minute because something IS DUE TOMORROW. (Been there, done that.) Though there is a long list of things I enjoy about homeschooling, this is the one about how I start my day.
I am usually already awake when I hear footsteps coming in my room. The next thing I know there’s fifty-some odd pounds of grins and joy bounding on my bed.
First thing, he comes and sits on the bed with me. Sometimes he tells me about his favorite football teams. Again. Or he shares the best plays of his favorite players. Again. Sometimes he shares about the book he’s been reading or something funny his friend said. But a few days ago, it was none of that.
“Mama. Mama,” he paused, waiting for me to make eye contact. His voice was quite serious as was his gaze. “Mama, I need for you to come fix me breakfast.”
Well, this was new. Or maybe not so much new as a change. He used to ask me to do that, but in the past few months, he’s found his way to getting a bowl and the cereal and the milk and fixing his own breakfast. So, like I said, new. But not.
I knew he had to be hungry because he hadn’t eaten much the night before.
“Okay, buddy. But what’s up? You don’t feel like fixing it yourself this morning?”
“No. It’s not that.” He held his hands out for emphasis. “The milk jug. Is. FULL.”
I looked at him.
“It’s a new jug.” And what he said next nearly floored me. I mean, you know, if I hadn’t been already lying in the bed. “I don’t want to make a mess.”
Wait. Really? He didn’t want to make a mess?
Now that really was new.
He’s nine. And a half tacked on for good measure now. Nine and a half, and he’s finally reached the phase where he thought it through before doing it.
That is pretty exciting to me. And maybe just a little sad–that whole growing up thing, but since I didn’t have to clean up half a jug of milk from the counter, cabinets, and floor, I’m getting over that sad bit fairly quickly.
It occurred to me later in the day, as I was once again marveling at this new development and how proud I was of him asking or help, that this world would be a different place if folks thought things through and asked for help if it seemed like they couldn’t handle it themselves. A really different place.
But that whole asking for help is so hard, isn’t it?
This evening as I thought back over that morning’s conversation and the day’s revelation, Cooter was talking about something he was hoping to do. “I think that will help me a lot because you learn about diffusing bombs.” That caught my attention. “I think that could be quite helpful, because I think I might want to do that one day. Diffuse bombs. Like on a bomb squad.”
Oh me. So maybe he hasn’t learned to think through the consequences in every situation.
Oh well. There’s time. And until then…..
he still has his Mama.
Who relishes those morning wakeup calls.
Love to all.