Mommies of boys

This is how I find Milo most mornings after breakfast, while I'm bustling around cleaning up, throwing in laundry, or taking a minute to myself.

He's reading aloud today, barefoot in a stack of books, turning the pages with delicate and deliberate movements. He took his socks off at breakfast, and then sat with furrowed brow, trying to put them back on his feet to no avail. My heart broke a little, because I want him to be able to do anything he tries on the first attempt. Life is rarely like that, though, and I'm mentally gearing myself up to teach him even now that we always try and try again until we get things right. I must be feeling overly sentimental today, because I sat for several minutes just watching him, wondering who on earth would give me responsibility for such a precious gift. (deep breath) I guess someone thought I was up to it, right?

Milo is at the same time mischievious and sensitive, all-energy and gentle snuggles. One minute he's knocking down crates of toys to climb the hearth, and the next minute he's reading books and patting little Lily on the back while she tries to sit up. I'm learning a delicate balance between being firm and being loving, between wielding an iron fist and becoming a soft place to land. I'm thinking of a verse in the New Testament, where we were instructed to be wise as serpents and gentle as doves. Maybe that's what being a mommy of a boy is all about?

Now, if you'll excuse me, somebody here rode a tiny fire truck across the living room to throw books over the baby gate at me, and I can't afford to sit still any longer.