Last night it was only Henry and me at home. It's been a long week and I have been feeling crushed by life. Henry was very engaged in something he was doing, so I grabbed some kleenexes and went to the back porch for a cry fest. I was just ready to open the floodgates and Henry came out, sat next to me, got really comfortable, and started to talk. My first thought was, "Noooo! I only want to sit here and cry."
But then I saw his face. So beautiful. His skin, his dimples, his big, brown eyes.
"Mom, will you make me some almond butter? That sounds so good."
So we went into the kitchen, I made some almond butter, and Henry started talking in our dog Roxie's voice. You see, Henry and Liza have this voice that they say is Roxie's, and they carry on a conversation that is supposed to be the dog talking and not them.
And the voice is annoying.
"Okay, Henry, that's enough, buddy."
And he kept going.
"Henry, I said no more."
And he kept going.
"Henry! Enough! I told you to stop and you aren't. Why are you doing that?"
He looked down with a sad face, "Sorry, Mom."
And in that moment a million things that I used to think were funny and my mom did not, came flooding back to me. In a millisecond.
"Henry, you are forgiven for not obeying me. And do you want to know something? I used to do that same thing when I was your age. And beyond. I could really annoy my mom and she would tell me to stop, but I kept going."
"Heck, yes! But not without getting in trouble."
I began to tell some of the many things I used to do. I won't share them all here because...well...I don't want to annoy you.
As I told Henry all of this, his eyes were lit up, his dimples were huge, and he giggled. We made our almond butter sandwiches and went back out to the porch.
One of the things I told Henry that I used to do as a kid was talk in "Rs". You know, like Scooby-Doo. Rike ris. Rand RI rid rit rall ra rime. Henry and I ate our almond butter sandwiches and talked in "Rs". And laughed. In fact, he was actually belly laughing, he thought it was so funny.
Oh God, you showed up last night. You rescued me from wallowing in self pity by blessing me with the presence of your precious gift...Henry. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for my children. Thank you for conversation and laughter. And even for annoying dog voices.
p.s. I was writing this post this morning from the back porch (my favorite place to sit in the summer time) and Liza came out, sat next to me, got really comfortable, and started to talk. In Roxie's voice. I kid you not.