A boy’s Promise

He gave me a big, wide-toothed grin as he grabbed the quilt, hopped on the couch and rested his head on my lap. After a few adjustments, his body was under the quilt, a snuggly ball just the right size for my left hand to rest on his bum. My right hand combed through his blond silky hair and I detached from my television show to look at the cherub, the imp, the freckle-faced moppet who called me Mom.

His eyelashes were too long for a boy, or so everyone would say. “Why do boys always get the beautiful lashes?” I figured it was so they could quickly learn how to get themselves out of trouble. His eyes were a gray blue and when he looked up at me from his resting place on my lap, they danced, happy with a day of mischief and fun.

The quilt he settled under had been hand-stitched no less than 20 years prior by an aunt who wasn’t…my cousins’ Aunt Flossie. She’d made them for all of us “kids” and mine was a favorite for snuggle time and I-don’t-feel-so-good-time. It was starting to show age, but I figured that’s why Aunt Flossie made it – to be used, not displayed.

“Can you promise me something, buddy?”

“What, Mommy?”

“Will you still do this when you’re 15 and long and leggy and entirely too cool for me?”

His blue eyes blinked and questioned and the gapped-tooth grin eased my mind. “Of course, Mommy. You’re my favorite pillow.”

He snuggled in deeper, giggling as I snuck in a tickle and the evening went back to the monotony known as family life. But, I couldn’t settle back into my show. My head leaned back to rest on the couch and I closed my eyes, wondering about this little one. What will he look like when he’s 15? Will he be tall and spindly or short and stout? Will his hair darken like his daddy’s did? Will he still look up to his sister even though by then, she’ll be *gulp* gone for college? Will his freckles still dot his face and his blue eyes illuminate a darkened part of my soul? And truly. Will he still cuddle on the couch? Will he even fit!?

I opened my eyes and looked down and low and behold, there were my answers. It was 10 years later and the weight he created on my lap was much heavier. His hair was a bit darker and now, it was long, flowing well past his neck line. The silkiness stayed, as did the long eyelashes. Some freckles remained and a few were replaced with…acne. He even had hair on his upper lip!! Visible hair. His gapped-tooth grin was no more as braces, recently removed, had straightened and rearranged. My hand couldn’t reach his bum anymore and no…

…no, he did not fit on the couch. The cute little snuggled bundle of days’ past was now a pile of limbs and joints, jutting the well-worn quilt into an odd couch sculpture. Yes, Aunt Flossie would have been thrilled. Her quilt has been used for nothing less than love and care-taking.

And my little imp, my sweet freckle-faced moppet still rests his head on my lap at the end of a day of mischief and fun.

And I ache with joy.