A Like Letter to Jackson

Last night we had a dinner party with four dear friends visiting from out of town and one sweet godson.    And this morning, Ani, Jess & I left on the 6am flight bound for Seattle.  The girls are going to visit Grandma Bette in California while I attend a course in Texas on the Religious Education of the 9 to 12 year old Child. Admittedly, it was a curious form of madness to host a dinner party the night before a trip which would require myself and 2 of my 3 children to wake up at 4am the next morning, but when that's the only time schedules collide, you make do.  Despite the insanity of the undertaking, I was rather proud of my extreme organization in not having waited until the last hour to pack 2 suitcases and 3 carry-on bags.  I also congratulated myself on having dinner guests who brought dinner.  

Even with said foresight however, I was still wildly spinning around the house collecting last minute things we would need at 8pm after all the guests had gone.  And exactly at this time, Jackson came up to me, as he's been doing every night since he could talk, tapped on my knees and said “Mommy, will you snuggle me?”

Now, I do enjoy snuggling my little boy. But last night (as is much too often the case) right when Jackson was needing a snuggle, I felt like my head was exploding in a thousand different directions. I desperately needed to hunt for a missing Magic School Bus book which Jessica wanted to read on the plane, and I had a sneaking suspicion I might have packed Jeff's spare contact lenses instead of my own.  To stop would be to seriously risk arriving in Texas with 3 pairs of shoes and no socks (but it's Texas in August—do I really need socks?). And so I told him I needed to finish my work and when I was done I would come to snuggle him. I knew this would take a while. I knew he was tired. I knew (and maybe even hoped) he would fall asleep before I made it back to his room.

So we began the horrible polka of Jackson retiring to his bed for a few minutes and then coming forth with a hopeful smile to ask “Mommy, can you snuggle?” and each time, of course, I became more frantic  and more determined to put off the snuggling. Finally when our doomed dance had gone on for 30 minutes I heard him sobbing in the bedroom as Jeff tried to comfort him. I dropped the iPod charger and 5 different kinds of black, felt-tipped pens (you can never have enough). And knocked softly on his door.

Together, we climbed into his twin bed and pulled the covers up to our chins. Turned towards each other, he flung his left arm around my neck, laid his tear-dampened cheek against mine and whispered, “Mommy, I like you so much.”

And as my heart broke a little I realized,  he's not asking for the moon or for something I can not give. He's not asking for herculean feats of hospitality, Olympian packing skills or the most organized mother on earth. He's asking for ME, the mother he likes so much, to slow down and be present to him.

Today I'm on the plane. I have a multitude of felt-tipped black pens, an iPod, Mac Book, cell phone, the correct contact lenses, and an 8-day training to prepare for. But, I don't have your sweet arms around my neck, Jackson and I miss you and I love you. And I like you so much too.