Monday Mimisms with Mimi Queen of Memes ~ Getting Down with Thomas

I love Thomas the Train.
Not really.
But a very special little boy in my life thinks Thomas is tops. He knows all the trains by name and character. And yet he doesn't know his numbers! The alphabet? Yes, it's a song and he can sing that tune up a blue streak and in Spanish, but numbers are a challenge for this smart little tot (if I do say so myself). This weekend I spent some time down in the floor playing a train game with baby boy. He's three and I'm twenty-three thirty-three some kind of three.....ahem... and I learned a few things. We were working on numbers and patterns. I taught and he listened. We played. I taught. He listened and squealed when he got one right.
And then he taught.
And I listened.

Ten Life Lessons I Learned From My Grrr.....Grrrr.....son (I can't say it) Yesterday

1. He sees me perfectly. Unconditionally. Content to hug me 'just because' and lavish a kiss or two. I see him in a delirious swoon of love that never ever ends. That is Life Lesson #1. Period. And if I never learn another thing, that is all that matters.

2. He doesn't care how many times he gets it wrong as long as he eventually gets it right.

3. Squealing for joy effusively flows from his cute little frame on a regular basis - especially when Thomas says "Excellent! Good job!" I think more joyful noise is due in my life. I'm working on my squeal now.

4. When he's happy his entire body jumps and wiggles and flips. It's a sight to behold. I think I can jump and wiggle but I'm still working on those flips. Wonder what would happen if grownups exuded this happy dance once a day? Even though the neighbors would call us certifiable, we'd eventually be healthier as soon as they let us out of the mental hospital.

5. He is full of wonder and saturated with the simple process of learning.
I am full of wonder that he is full of wonder...... and saturated with love for him.

6. "Play again, Mimi, play again!" (yes, he really does call me Mimi, not the G word. It's perfect! It's ageless, musical and appropriately dramatic thank-you-very-much). The child must have a button somewhere he pushes that says "Play again." I so needed to play this weekend. And he happily obliged. Now I wonder where I can get one of those buttons.

7. His mother calls him "whybaby" because he asks Why a hundred times a day.
I, for one, hope he never stops asking why.

8. I see my son in him - pools of sacred prayers and tuck-me-in-kisses behind those cavernous eyes - and it makes me want to scoop him up and devour him in my arms. There is nothing deeper than a double dose of mother love. I am intoxicated. And he doesn't care a bit.

9. He is not afraid to touch. He is not afraid to fail. He is not afraid to question. He is not afraid to try again. He is not afraid of anything.

10. In a flash, twenty years are whisked away and I am again on the floor with his father - my son - and we are playing with puzzles and coloring inside the lines. Then baby boy flashes blue instead of brown and I snap back to reality. His eyes slay me right down to the core as did his father's and the spirit is there.
And I am there. And time has stopped.

Nobody sees me like this. I don't want to break the spell. As he grows up, I think my prayer will be for him to keep the magic - this magic that makes him a wholly loving little person - who can kick my caboose with one flash of his smile, teaching this grandmother a thing or two. There. I've said it.

And I can say my numbers too.