On the way home last night, my little guy calls and leaves a message, and speaking in as authoritative a voice as an 8-year-old can muster, he says “Mama, don’t forget to get me a large strawberry ice cream later, okay?”
It is so amusing that he can actually speak like an adult on a juvenile topic like ice cream, and I can’t help but smile at the thought that my boy is growing up so fast. He stands taller than my shoulders now so I’ve had to get his next size in jeans. (And I am not getting a reprieve on that because GAP continues to have a monopoly on “hook” instead of button jeans. And for some reason, he thinks anything that aren’t jeans are “uncool”.). Still, scary or eerie musical scores get to him — even if he can sit through the gore of CSI, the monsters of Grimm or the goo of Fringe. (Here’s grown up question while catching an episode of Fringe: “Mama, is that Walter or Walternate from the parallel universe?”..) His hugs are tighter now although I can’t help but wonder if his fascination for boobies are because of his having been breastfed to age 2.
He’s a very, very picky eater, too, but once he finds a certain food item to his liking, like me, he will eat it meal after meal. Just as I can have tapa with itlog na maalat and kamatis or inihaw na tilapia for lunch all week, he’ll have pan de sal or cereal and milk or bacon and rice every day.
I marvel at how much of me I see in him, and I keep hoping he becomes an even better me. I often catch myself babying him which I am trying very hard not to do too much of, but I start thinking of when he will not be as affectionate as now so I try to enjoy it while it lasts. Already, he is refusing to rub noses with his Dad in public which is their “exclusive” show of affection to each other. But kisses are still okay, he says.
He’s growing up so fast. Before I know it, he’ll be going off to college.
Tomorrow, we have a date in the city. I’m still trying to decide if I’ll do a half day or take the day off, but he’s not accepting a rain check. He says we WILL go. The Museum of Modern Art apparently has a toy car exhibit which I read about while doing one of my newspaper collage postcards. (One thing I like about doing the collage postcards is that I get to skim the headlines at least and occasionally, stop and read a full article. I have friends who check on the day’s news by going to NYTimes.com, and here I am with multiple copies available not only of The New York Times, but of The Wall Street Journal and The Financial Times as well, and I am not reading the news!)
But back to my little guy. I promised him we’d go check the exhibit, but not before we check out the kid paradise that the Times Square Toys R’Us is nearby.
This one’s a little tough to disappoint — he is, as we say in the vernacular, pikon. I’m sort of watching that because I want him to be able to deal with disappointments better. Again, a little bit of the younger me in him again. I only wish he’d get over it sooner than I did. (Hoping to save him from the heartache and frustration.). Then again, we learn from our heartaches and frustration. It is through falling that we learn how to get up again. As his Mom, I guess, I wish I could take the fall for him, but we can really only do so much. Sometimes, all we can really do is watch from a distance.
I like these dates he and I have. I hope that when he’s older, he’ll be able to say “I loved those times we went out together, just you and me, Mama..” .. I know I will…