Aching to Be Older

Dearest Tyler,

Today, you made me some promises. And, since you are four (and a half), I am documenting them here because I plan on claiming these promises for about the next five, ten, fifty years.

Today, you were not so happy you are not yet in kindergarten. You express your utter disdain for that fact every single week. It is one of many elements of your life with which you get disgusted. I get it. Kindergarten sounds so fun when Noah talks about parties, bingo nights and all the fun things he gets to do. At least once a week when we drop Noah off, I get to hear you, very indignantly, state that you are going when you are five.

Today, I tried to offer some solace by telling you how very grateful I am that you're four (and a half). I told you that I'll be sad when you're all grown up because there will come a day when you won't fit in my lap anymore. To which you made your first promise...

Even if I can't fit in your lap anymore, I will still kiss and hug you, Mommy.

And then this string of promises...

I will still see saw with you.

I will still draw you pictures. And drawings of hearts.

And I'll still draw you snowballs. If we get white paper.

Today, you made me the best promises a four (and a half) year old can make a Mommy.

Someday, I'll hold you to them.

Especially the kisses and hugs part.

And maybe even the see saw part.