My Boy Rocks... In Case You Didn't Know

In case I haven't mentioned it before, my boy is a rock star.

He is everything that shines and lights up my life. (Even when he is a putz. But this isn't about that... for once.)

Moving away from extended family with whom he's spent a lot of time (maybe too much) would be at the very least, I thought, interesting... if not downright crazy and dangerous. Yes, I worried about just him and me -- new place, no friends (yet), no car (again, yet), and no idea what to expect or do here. He and I, who haven't had as much time together lately as I would have wanted due to the move and the chaos surrounding it. I worried that he would be upset, bored, anxious, angry, fearful, sad... you name it, I worried. I worried that I couldn't keep him happy and secure and content. Because it seemed that way so much in the past. (There's a lot to do with certain people in our lives and circumstances which should have been in my control but I just couldn't seem to take control, and then this opportunity for the move came up, and guess what: it was me taking control. For once.) Bottom line: I was worried that things wouldn't go well here.

I couldn't have been any more wrong.

Sure, he's talked about how he's missed friends and his cousins. He's asked when he can visit. But he hasn't been overly fearful or anxious. And while he has his fussiness and occasional tantrums (hey, it wouldn't be normal if he didn't), he has been himself.

And there's more I worried about. See, he's my Mini-Me: he's stubborn and contrary and curious and unrelenting and bull-headed and independent and argumentative and bossy. (I sound like a real treat here, don't I?) And yes, we make a great pair; often butting heads and squaring off for the squall of the century. But we love each other and we know how it all works together.

Then yesterday, he showed me a side of him that surprised me. He wanted to play a game. Of course he couldn't explain it outright, and it sort of morphed into being during the process, but it was an amazing insight into this amazingly wonderful boy. He wanted to play Daddy and Son. Guess who was Daddy? Him. So that left... yep, that's right: me being the son. (Yeah, we're freaks.) So what was this unique role-playing game about?

My rambunctiously aggressive boy as "Daddy" read to me, did the bed-time routine, and generally "took care of his son." In the most caring, nurturing, patient way I've ever seen. Did he play his daddy? Well, actually, seeing as WackyMummy is the person who does all of the above (even when daddy is around), I'd have to say not. He played "mommy" (but he kept it "gender-correct"). Let me tell you, it's a kick in the seat of the pants to see yourself through your child's eyes. I was both humbled and awed about his modeling the care-giving role. I'm proud to be his Mummy, and so glad and overwhelmed that he is as well-adjusted as he is.

And just a super kid.

* For the record, I hammed it up and played his own fussiness to the max back for him. He handled it very well, and I suppose I could learn about patience from him.