Evening. I'm in my home office, on the phone.
My 7yo son walks in, holding a pair of brown fleece sweatpants in one hand. His expression is beseeching － he clearly wants to ask or tell me something, but knows the rule: Don't talk to Mommy while she's talking on the phone.
He begins to gesticulate with his free hand, drawing huge, backward letters in the air, and stretching his little mouth every which way as he silently articulates his urgent message.
I've no clue what he's so desperately trying to get across. I shrug my shoulders, shake my head a little and point to the phone － I'm on the phone. Don't interrupt.
But he's determined to try, try again. His gestures grow even wilder, his mouth distorts even further. His blue eyes are wide, pleading, as he waves the pants around in the air.
He's not giving up. Finally, I surrender.
"I'm sorry, can you hold on just a minute?" I ask my friend. "What is it?" I hiss at my little boy.
"I just want to know whether these pants are clean for St. Patrick's Day," he says with relief.
St. Patrick's Day is over a week away. The pants are brown.
"Yes, those are clean. But ... "
"Thank you!" he sings as he skips off to the living room.
I laugh at his emotional extremes and his utter randomness ... and return to my logical, grownup, boring-ass conversation.
Love him. Love my life. Lucky me. :)
image source: dianemiller.net