I’m just gonna look at you
Posted on | August 28, 2007 |
“I’m just going to look at you,” he says climbing up into the big chair across the room where I’ve suggested he sit so that I can get writing done.
It is early. Just before 7 a.m. and the sun is falling in a bright triangle through the window across my cheeks as I write. Beside me, a steaming milky Americano and honey toast with almonds.
He’s up early with me for some reason. I’ve never entirely figured his sleep patterns out. Later to bed doesn’t necessarily correlate with a later wake-up time, and now here he is across the room from me, curiosity taking over his finger tips. I decide to be content with this. Him, there, occupying a small space across the room, and take his lead. I’m just going to look at him this morning. To return this small gift of quiet attention he’s offered up.
His growing gallops by me like a colt. Each month he grows a quarter of an inch, and stands proudly at the corner of the wall in the kitchen where we mark his growing off with pencil tics and scribbled dates. But it is more than growing tall that he’s been doing, it’s growing deep. He is becoming such an expansive, inquisitive, soulful child, and all I want to be is right there watching like I am now. Soaking up his tousled hair and morning breath.
“The moon can come to your door,” he says biting on honey toast and looking out the window towards the rosy morning light spreading across the sky. Last night the moon white and round, hanging like a plate on the dark wall of the sky. Then it was swallowed by the shadow of the earth.
His red socked feet point toes towards each other. Beside him on the end table is a white china cup of frothy steamed milk. Above his upper lip, a mustache of foam. He clambers off the big chair, and trundles to his room to fetch some new picture books I brought home last night for. He comes back carrying two.
“I lost my bread!” He mutters, going back to retrieve his toast from whatever nook he stashed it in and returns with it clutched in his fist along with another book. “I’m gonna read this book first,” he says.
I watch him explore Ten Nine Eight. A Caledecott winner with bold drawings in vibrant hues. He turns to the back first. Opens the last page, then remembers that we read it last night and this was the end. He turns the book over to the front. Looks at the front, then looks at the back again, checking. Finally he nods and starts in at the front again, page by page. “The end,” he singsongs at the end.
The next book is Apple Pie Tree. “Apple pie sound really good,” he says. Then looks up. “We should make it.”
A few pages later he looks up and says, “I don’t know the words of this book.” Then, when I say that the pictures tell the story and that he doesn’t need to know the words yet (the book is new, I’ve only read it to him once,) he returns to the pages, turning each one slowly. When he’s read through four books, he jumps off and says, “I’m gonna go downstairs and bike around,” and off he scurries.
Dh has woken up. I can here him in the shower, water splashing, singing. Morning has splashed over our house in an unexpected tumble this morning. Not the quiet solace I was imagining, but maybe something better.
I wanted to say how deeply and completely happy your comments made me yesterday. It is so nice to know I’m not entirely writing into a void. Such a gift to know that my words are heard, cared about, mused at. Thank you.
Comments
18 Responses to “I’m just gonna look at you”
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August 28th, 2007 @ 7:37 am
Again you bring us a nice view of your life with such pretty words and appreciation for your family. Thank YOU.
August 28th, 2007 @ 7:43 am
Wow, when you write like this I can envision him doing all the things you mentioned. He is adorable.
Sorry that I dont always comment either. I love your blog and read daily.
August 28th, 2007 @ 9:06 am
“Such a gift to know that my words are heard, cared about, mused at.”
- Are they ever. Among other things, your writing, observations and wonderment lead me to consider having a child. This is a big thing as I’ve spent much of my life running from this idea. So - am in a state of consideration and that’s a good place.
P.S. Thanks for your comment.
August 28th, 2007 @ 9:40 am
That piece was so beautiful. First, it is wonderful the way you look at this unexpected change in you morning routine … but also just the observation is lovely…
When I first started reading it I thought that perhaps this was a work of fiction you were working on, I got wrapped into it much like I do a work of fiction. It is quite beautiful the way that you capture the moments of your morning. It is making me look at my morning a little more closely.
Once again, thank you. Your words are not going into a void- but are much appreciated, enjoyed and treasured.
August 28th, 2007 @ 4:12 pm
I can just see those little socked toes angled in. What a darling boy you describe.
August 28th, 2007 @ 9:02 pm
I haven’t been commenting, but I haven’t stopped reading. Your thoughtful descriptions make me reflect on my days with N, who just turned 2.
August 28th, 2007 @ 11:23 pm
Delurking to write…
If I could write like you, I would write every day.
I read every time you post. Thank you for every lovely word, sentence, phrase.
August 29th, 2007 @ 11:44 am
This is lovely. And he probably had no idea you were writing about him.
I found with my sons that a good dose of eye contact (really seeing them) could keep them from being needy for an hour or more.
August 29th, 2007 @ 12:53 pm
Oh! You are definately not writing in a void. I’m like Carrie aboove, yours is the page I vist every day no matter how busy I am because I love your wods and the way you describe your life and because I found your page when you were going through a tough time that was similar to a tough time I was going through & you made me feel less alone even though I didn’t de-lurk at the time to let you know. I love the way you interact with your son and let him be the inquistive being he is.
August 29th, 2007 @ 1:44 pm
Bean sounds so grown up! “We should make it [apple pie]” had me cracking up. Thanks for this lovely snapshot into your morning.
August 29th, 2007 @ 4:58 pm
Those kinds of mornings happen often to me. I’m thinking I’m going to have time to write, and then there is a little one sitting next to me, running his hand along my arm hairs or touching my cheek with her hand. It’s so good when we don’t fight it, just accept it for what it is, a different kind of morning.
August 30th, 2007 @ 12:09 am
Those kind of mornings make up much of my time with the boys. It’s been hard having my own agenda, but the joys I’d miss otherwise (even the loud noise it all entails) measure so much greater than the other things I’d get done.
I think you wrote the most important stuff down today
August 30th, 2007 @ 7:05 am
I’d just like to say that I truly enjoy what you write and the art you share. You can take one little moment that others would consider “ordinary” and find the beauty in it. That’s admirable.
August 30th, 2007 @ 8:34 am
you inspire me to write, thank you.
August 30th, 2007 @ 7:14 pm
I love how your mornings sound! SOOO different from mine these days. Mornings consist of frantically getting everyone ready for school, preschool and daycare. I begged my son to get up on time, no hissy-fits and total cooperation so we could spend 5 minutes reading Junie B. Jones before school. I would love to have my kids get up earlier so we could relax a bit instead of waking from a dead sleep and falling onto a treadmill that is going too fast to keep up. What is the secret of your peacefulness? Are you naturally a morning person? Does DH help a lot with getting Bean ready?
In a book I am reading, it said that “ruthlessly eliminating hurry from our lives” should be our most important goal to bringing peace. I would love to do that. It sounds like have done that with your morning routine.
August 31st, 2007 @ 12:51 pm
i LOVe reading your blog!
I check it all the time.
but dont always necessarily comment.
other people can say what i want to so
much better than me!
i LOVE your words, the way you make it
all seem so easY! keep writing.
i will keep reading>!
tara
August 31st, 2007 @ 5:34 pm
“The moon can come to your door.”
He’s already a dreamy wordster like his mama.
August 31st, 2007 @ 11:13 pm
This is beautifully written. As always!
And Bean, I love you so. Seriously.