Vintage Slice 27
November 15, 2011
The Call comes after my shower, after my makeup, after my shoes are on my feet. If I’m honest, this is the best time to get The Call. The fog is thick, altering my course of the day. Forcing me to stay home for a few hours. Like a rolling marquee the tasks march through my head.
Schedule teacher meetings. Dig through school email. Finish that punctuation unit outline. Make anchor chart for kindergarten. Throw in a load of laundry. Finish packing for NCTE. Schedule teacher meetings…
Then the footsteps. The little guy is up and he has many, many different plans. He has something of his own marquee. It goes like this:
I have a story to tell you. Let’s read some books. Can we play trains? I want to write. How about some chocolate milk? I need to dress up like Tweety Bird. Mom, won’t you play with me?
“It’s early, don’t you want to go back to bed?”
Confusion passes over his face. He doesn’t understand the concept of go back to bed, your mom has so many things that need to be done. “No, Mom,” he says, “I have a story to tell you.”
Deep momma sigh. I close my eyes and push the ticker tape tasks to the side, out of the front of my brain. I gather him up in my arms and I tell myself I won’t be able to get these sweet little boy hugs forever. I know, I know, there will be a time when I’ll beg him to get up and spend time with me. I snuggle in and he gives me a tight keep-you-forever hug. I’m ready, buddy, let me hear your story.
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