Yesterday, I shared some of my uncertainty about this whole parenting gig.  So much of what I expected – without even realizing it mind you – is vastly different from the reality.  And then there’s that level of comparison amongst parents.  Comparing kids’ activity schedules, abilities, interests, charity, discipline styles, etc.  Some of these comparisons are overt and happen with or without the child’s involvement at all.  In other cases, the comparisons are so subtle that they almost feel like you’re own thoughts.

Tonight, I called a Time Out – not on the kids or even on myself, but rather, on our schedule.  We were on a quick stop at home for a speedy dinner between commitments, when I realized that there was no possible way to walk to our destination in the 4 minutes we had available.  Beyond that, the two hours of time my kids would be tech-occupied wasn’t something I was thrilled about either.  The clincher though, was the incomplete science fair presentation, that I knew I would feel guilty and try to finish later tonight if we headed to this meeting.

I announced our change of itinerary and Calder was less-than-thrilled since it meant he lost valuable Minecraft building time on the iPad.  We worked through the disappointment and frustration over having to get his project finished.  Once that storm had passed, I sat at the table assisting, while he worked at cutting and gluing the information to the posterboard.

“Mom.  Yesterday, when B was here, I didn’t understand him when he said, ‘Gasp on three.  Ready? 1, 2, 3!”  I listened and thought back to the two boys sitting on our blue bench yesterday after school.  We mothers, prodding them along to complete the project they entered into the science fair.

“What did you think he said, Buddy?” I asked, glancing over to the kitchen floor where he sat working and smiling.

“I thought he said, “Gas Bomb on 3, which is why I went {imagine the squinched up face of a 9-year-old try to launch a “gas bomb.”}

I stared at him.  Trying to process exactly what he’d said to me.  I saw his amusement and I knew that what he said seemed funny, but it took him repeating it one more time for me to really hear and process what he was saying.  When I finally understood, I cracked up laughing right along with him.  I thought back to B’s reaction yesterday, wondering why Calder hadn’t gasped like he’d suggested.  It all made perfect sense.

Tonight, as he glued on his the headings (hypothesis, materials, procedure, etc.), I couldn’t help but think how many times this must happen for him.  This misunderstanding.  The fact that he’s doing exactly what he {thinks} is requested, but that which goes unacknowledged.  What’s more, I thought about this shared laughter, this time to just talk and more importantly, to listen, and how I almost missed this.  A simple moment, but one I’m thankful to have heard and enjoyed with my son.

This post was written as part of a monthly challenge sponsored by  Two Writing Teachers, to encourage writing and community.  The goal is to write a Slice of Life entry each day throughout the month of March.