Because there was no school and his parents both had to work, Jacob spent Monday and Tuesday with me. He was cheerful about trips to the grocery both day, though he confessed he hates grocery stores. Such trips are hard on me because I make the mistake of holding out a treat. Monday I had to say "No more cereal when we have two boxes," while he countered "Juju, we don't need that much Kleenex." My explanation that I like back-up fell on deaf ears. Central Market was easier--we came away with a container of six oatmeal/raisin cookies, his choice. They may just be my favorite new thing--we each ate three yesterday. So good. And I rationalized to him that they're good for us.
Last night Jacob spent the night. We went to dinner with friends Jacob particularly enjoys (it's mutual), and his parents didn't want to come get him at eight nor did I want to drive him home. This morning, I delivered him to his mom's office at 9:30 so they could be home in time to watch the TCU bowl game with young (well, they are to me) friends.
And then I was home, absurdly happy at the prospect of a day home alone with Sophie. We are holed up in my office with a heater--cozy when I've been cold all day. I admit to fiddling at my desk and only starting on work late in the morning--still have to do yoga but a nap beckons.
One precious moment with Jacob: when I have my nightly love and tummy rub session with Sophie, on her dog bed next to my bed, Jacob hangs his head upside down over the edge of the bed and looks at me. Last night, he asked, "What do you want to talk about?" I don't remember now what we talked about, but as I drifted off--and he tossed and turned--he said, "You know what I really like? The conversations we have when you're loving Sophie." Be still my heart. Sometimes I wonder what he'll remember twenty years from now, and I guess that's one thing. May all his memories be that pleasant.
Tonight, weather permitting, I'll go to a bring-your-own-steak dinner with Jacob and his family and the football watchers who will no doubt stay to watch the new year in. Christian is a master at cooking my meat the way I like it--seared on the outside and very pink in the middle. I'm anticipating a nice small sirloin. And an early-to-bed, quiet New Year's Eve.
And to all, a blessed New Year with peace, joy and love.
Last night Jacob spent the night. We went to dinner with friends Jacob particularly enjoys (it's mutual), and his parents didn't want to come get him at eight nor did I want to drive him home. This morning, I delivered him to his mom's office at 9:30 so they could be home in time to watch the TCU bowl game with young (well, they are to me) friends.
And then I was home, absurdly happy at the prospect of a day home alone with Sophie. We are holed up in my office with a heater--cozy when I've been cold all day. I admit to fiddling at my desk and only starting on work late in the morning--still have to do yoga but a nap beckons.
One precious moment with Jacob: when I have my nightly love and tummy rub session with Sophie, on her dog bed next to my bed, Jacob hangs his head upside down over the edge of the bed and looks at me. Last night, he asked, "What do you want to talk about?" I don't remember now what we talked about, but as I drifted off--and he tossed and turned--he said, "You know what I really like? The conversations we have when you're loving Sophie." Be still my heart. Sometimes I wonder what he'll remember twenty years from now, and I guess that's one thing. May all his memories be that pleasant.
Tonight, weather permitting, I'll go to a bring-your-own-steak dinner with Jacob and his family and the football watchers who will no doubt stay to watch the new year in. Christian is a master at cooking my meat the way I like it--seared on the outside and very pink in the middle. I'm anticipating a nice small sirloin. And an early-to-bed, quiet New Year's Eve.
And to all, a blessed New Year with peace, joy and love.
2 comments:
Lovely images, Judy. I am sure Jacob will have a passel of happy memories of the time he spent with you to bring to his adulthood. Thank you for sharing. Happy New Year.
Thanks, Kait. I do often wonder what he'll remember from these years. I wish I were closer geographically to my other grandchildren so I could be as close emotionally.
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