Love you Forever

Andrew has started napping again after 8 months, and I am overjoyed! This means I get a break, and that we are back into a pre-nap reading routine.

The clear favorite is still Richard Scarry's Cars and Trucks and Things That Go, but I introduced him to Love you Forever this week.

Love it or hate it, this book gets a reaction out of people, sort of the like the wonderfully creeptastic "The Giving Tree" which I remember fondly from childhood, even though as an adult the relentless sacrifices of motherhood sometimes make me feel like a chopped up, scooped out, stump of my former self.

I'll never forget reading Love you Forever to Jack as I rocked him in his tiny bedroom in our first home. His crib had made way for a big boy bed, because little sister was on her way in a matter of days. I positioned him on my lap as best I could and kissed his little head and neck, singing and crying my way through the book. I was overcome with the feeling that he was being displaced and with the worry that, despite everyone's assurances, my heart wasn't capable of growing to accommodate a new baby. Everything was about to change, and in a made-up tune I sobbed and squeezed out: "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be."

Jack's cowlick was exactly like the boy's in the book, and while I could never image leaning a ladder up against my married son's window (boundaries, much?) I did want him to know that despite a new little one coming into our home, he'd always be my baby. I wanted to squeeze him a little too tightly and never let him go.

Margaret never got into the book the way Jack and I did. Perhaps it was the male protagonist, the fact that she was what you would call a "busy baby" with less patience for books at that age, or that she, like many people. thought the whole premise was weird, weird, weird. The book got tucked away for a long time.

I wasn't sure what my reaction would be to reading the book again, but there it was on the shelf. Would I cry the way I did with Jack? Would I cry even more, knowing that I never got to hold and cuddle and potentially stalk Jack after he'd barely turned twelve and went to heaven?

I didn't cry, and my made-up tune came right back to me today as I rocked Andrew back and forth, his tummy sticking out under a faded little polo shirt, chubby hands clutching not one but 2 loveys. I wondered if Andrew would bat the book away after a few pages, in favor of one more search for Goldbug, one more colossal smash-up of cars and trucks. But he listened attentively as I rocked and sang.

At one point, he pointed to the boy, now a young man, and said, "He growed up." Yes, he did. That is what I pictured for Jack all those years ago. And that is what I do picture for Andrew and Margaret. "You'll grow up too, Andrew"

One of the most tender things about this book is how the young man says his mom will still be his mom after she dies. He holds her and sings, "As long as I'm living my mommy you'll be." I love that, and it has certainly been true for me these 30 years since my mom went to heaven.

In an instant it becomes clear to me the only thing I'd change about this book, even though I am firmly in the Love you Forever Camp. I'd get rid of the words, "As long as I'm living" because if I've learned one thing in recent years, it's that forever truly means forever, and none of it is limited by whether anyone's body is living and breathing or not.

Love never dies.

Here's Looking at You, Kid

I'm working on our yearly photo album. I've always enjoyed getting a whole year's pictures bound in one slim volume-- a family yearbook that we look at again and again. Last year's was tough, but at least we had Jack for 8 of the 12 months represented. That yearbook looked pretty normal, until it didn't.This year's is a struggle that I'm just trying to power through before my online coupon expires.

My heart is heavy.

It has made me think of baby books. As the third child in four years, I took great offense upon discovering that my own baby book was nearly empty. I took it upon myself in first grade to rectify the situation by gluing in random pictures and filling in the blanks to describe myself. For "HAIR" I wrote: "Pretty" instead of brown; and for "EYES" I wrote "Nice" instead of blue. My mom got a huge kick out of this. I  drew, in ink, a portrait of my family, including our dog, cat, and guppies. I also drew fart bubbles coming out of my sister's rear end, so I guess my love for potty humor and my jealousy toward my older sister started young.

For Jack's baby book, however, I was on the case! As the first child, he had my undivided attention and resources. We also had no cable tv, blogs, smart phones or high speed internet to lure me away from my glue sticks, or Pinterest to intimidate me into creative paralysis.

So page after page is filled with lists, cute anecdotes, ticket stubs, folded paper party hats, class photos, and certificates. I hoped that someday Jack, or at least an interested wife or child, would pore over his well-documented cuteness.

And now it sits here, to what purpose?

To mock us about what should have been? While his friends get facial hair and all we get are memories?

I've spent some time this morning crying and looking over his book. I know that if it has been a while and I need a good cry, looking at pictures helps me get there fast. Videos are still almost too painful to watch. I wondered whether Jack had even seen his baby book, but I was pretty sure he had, because he loved things like that.

I smile through tears when I see he has indeed read it, like mother like son, taken it upon himself to pencil in a few additions.

He must have been 8 years old because where I had left off writing down Halloween costumes at age 6, Jack had added in sloppy cursive:
"Age 7: Darth Vader
Age 8: Zombie Doctor"

On the page about the origin of his name, I had left a blank:
Your name means:___________________

Jack added: "Successor, Given by God."

Given by God?
Given by God.
Given by God!


"You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name"

It's a choice. Every. Single. Day.