Yesterday was a long day. I have not been feeling well in the heart department and was very busy feeling sorry for myself. Amelia wanted nothing to do with being anywhere else besides my arms while Noah was very busy being a three year old All. Day. Long.
Amelia was in her bumbo, screaming because she had finished her peaches. I was trying to load the dishwasher while simultaneously keeping Amelia happy and finish up dinner for me and Noah (chicken enchiladas). And Noah? He loves to 'help' in the kitchen at dinner time. I gave him a cutting board, opened a can of sliced black olives and gave him a bunch of green onions. I gave him a butter knife, thinking this should occupy him long enough for me to finish the dishes before we eat.
"See! See! Seeeee! Mama! See!!"
Hands still wet and soapy, "Yes, Noah, I see, you're helping cook! Way to go, buddy!" I say, with my back to him as I toss some Cheerios on Amelia's tray.
"See. See? See! See!"
I turn to the cupboard, get out a few plates, and finally walk over to Noah's prep station.
And I see.
He had taken out almost all of the sliced olives and cut them in half, then arranged them in a line of perfectly intended, little letter 'c's.
It's moments like those. My heart freezes, my thoughts slow, and I can see my son for who I know he is. I see.