Today, while the boy slept, I mowed the lawn, trimmed the bushes and weed-eated. I like working on jobs that have a beginning and an end where I can see what I have accomplished. I left him a text when I left the house to run a few errands around 1:40. About 20 minutes later, my phone rings. "Mom, I 'm almost done with my chores. What's for lunch?" I didn't say a word about him being in the fetal position just 2o minutes earlier and exactly how much did he want me to believe he had accomplished in that time. I just listed off the various food groups still remaining in the fridge. Less than satisfied with the meager selection, Wade hurrumped and said, "I'll just go pick something up."
I knew if he left the chances of the chores really getting done would decrease significantly. So even though I had already left, I offered to bring him something home.
"What do you want?"
"Well, you are pretty close to Qdoba..."
It didn't matter that I would drive all the way up 71st street to get the lunch, then back to the house only to turn around and head back in the very same direction so I could pick up a few items at the Mall. It's what he wanted. It was worth it. What we do for our children is worth it; what we ask them to do for themselves is also worth it.
Later in the evening, he still had to finish his chores and do others as the commercials and half time of the Ohio State game would allow - but spoiling him a little is a gift, one that I can never take for granted again.
I wish we didn't take days and hearts and memories for granted or think that tomorrow is ever promised. One of the cries of my heart has been - "Did she know how much she was loved? Did she know; did she really know how much we adored her?" Joey says that's a stupid question to ask. He may be right; he usually is, but the question trails me on days when my mind will not quiet.
Going forward, let's not leave any doubt. Let's not wait until tomorrow or until a funeral. Let's tell those that we hope to see tomorrow who they are today if we haven't already. It's the light we have to share.