I went to the Olive Garden this week. I was on a date with my five year old.
We have been doing this since he was about 3, and while the very first time we had a date like this was simply because I had chosen not to cook that night (but still wanted to have leftovers the next day - thank you non-stop salad and breadsticks), it has become one of my favourite things that we do.
I have also decided that it is an important thing that we do, because if his dinner conversation at the moment is any indication of things to come, he will NEVER FIND A WIFE.
You see it dawned on me some time ago that my job here is to raise an independent, productive, interesting and engaged member of society, and while I might get by on looks and giggling, I am taking this responsibility seriously.
I do not know of very many women who would be drawn to a man who insists on being referred to as "Pterodactyl Jr", and who says "underpants" all the time, and who put crayons in his apple juice (some sort of scientific "ex-spearmint" I was told).
So when we go to the Olive Garden for our date, my son must look at his menu and choose his dinner and tell the server what he wants to eat using manners and an inside voice and not saying "underpants" at all. And then we have polite conversation and we tell each other about our day and we ask questions of the other person (he is still working on his "I'm paying attention to your answer" face - one thing at a time). And an interesting thing happens every time we do this...
I fall completely in love with his little self sitting there across the table from me and trying to remember and be polite and use his fork and his napkin and not say certain words. Most of the last 5 years of my life has been spent on the same side of the table as my son, because it was my job to hold him and feed him and then it was my job to cut up his food and help him feed himself, and then it was my job to clean him up and pick up the bits that fell on the floor.
So now when I sit on the other side of the table from him and I can watch him be who he is and watch how he is changing and growing (why oh why does it actually hurt to know that he is always growing), I think to myself that he might be the most imaginative and kind and funny and generous person on the planet. And that maybe my job is just to not screw him up.
My breath gets stuck in my lungs when I think of how much I love my little boy.
I think I must have saved BOATLOADS of orphans from drowning in an earlier life to have earned the privilege of being his mum in this one.
