B

Thirty nine inches tall, blonde hair just covering his eyebrows, big dark eyes, the cutest little nose you have ever seen and a mouth, well, a mouth that can spew out more words than a passionate politician. Truly. I am amazed…….everyday. When I get him up in the morning, all I have to do is touch the doorknob to open the door and he starts talking, mainly in question form, with a grin on his face, like he’s been practicing or something. His most popular question is, “Where are we going today?” and second place goes to, “What’s for breakfast?” since that is the only meal he thinks is worth eating (and of course, snack, which, to his dismay, only comes once a day). I’m not sure which is my favorite- his questions or his statements, which also come in multiples. He is very particular about how he wants me to listen. If I don’t stop what I am doing and, at the least, LOOK his way, he will tell me to do just that. If I happen to give him the patronizing, “Uh huh”, he will call me on that as well. I think after he got the “uh huh” response one too many times, he came up with a new no-fail strategy. With brow furrowed and finger out, he says, “Mommy, I’m telling you sumfing!” THAT turns my ears on and filters off. And, heaven forbid, if I find myself at a loss for words?? He can help me there too. His most requested responses are, “Right, Brighton!” and running a close second, “Good job, Brighton!” (If you are not careful, that first statement can get you into a lot of trouble—like the whole family winding up at Chuckee Cheese or some other place that food was really an afterthought.)

So why write about this today? Today was Brighton’s first day of Zoo School. It’s really the first “extracurricular” thing he has ever done without his sidekick sister Julia and it’s also an experience that is his alone. (Julia never did Zoo School.) She and I picked him up at noon and after they were buckled in the backseat digging out the lunches that she had packed, I found myself COMPLETELY enjoying the conversation between the two of them. Julia, in true form, wanted to know all about his 3 hours there and she listened intently- believing EVERYTHING he said. (I need to verify the “baby dinosaurs” and petting the gorillas with the teacher.) And then the question came, “Julia, what did you learn in school today at home with Mommy?” Simple enough, but what joy it brought to my heart, that he had been thinking of her and wanted to know about her

morning.

I do love all his questions AND his statements. Sometimes I wish I could store them up for a time when I hear I will be trying, in vain, to pull them out of him. It’s late. It’s time for the “Mommy check” upstairs- the one time I can turn the doorknob and walk into a quiet room. In just a few minutes, I will notice how tall he looks sprawled out on the bed, how his room smells wonderfully just like him, how many cars he put in his bed after I tucked him in and how I can’t wait to hear what he has to say tomorrow.