This is Mini-Me(this photo was taken in the UK last year), the second child in the Jenkins Brain Trust.  He was in rare form this morning, which I suspect is from the Thanksgiving dinner at my mother’s house yesterday, which he was ecstatic about. I think he woke with the joyful lingerings of yesterday’s food coma. He’s in a great mood for rising at oh-dark hundred.

First he came out in his gym uniform, which was fine except for my bright orange ankle socks he was sporting, which are definitely not part of the dress code.  “Uh, what’s up with the orange socks?” “I don’t have any clean socks”, he says. I laughed because he had done his laundry.  He disappeared, came back, and then said, “No one has mentioned anything about them so far today, so I think I’m good.”  Hunh??? “Except me, nut! Go change your socks.”

So he changed to white ankle socks.  I had to ask if they were clean.  He smiled a sly grin and replied that they were.  Normally, one would think I wouldn’t have to ask such a question, but after experiencing sheer mortification a few years ago, when Mini yelled across the gym one night after basketball practice that he’d worn the same socks three days in a row, quite pleased with his declaration, I ask. Often.

We brought leftovers home from dinner yesterday and Mini wanted to take them for lunch, so I told him to pack his lunch in his bag. “Mom, they don’t fit?” “What do you mean, they don’t fit?” I turned around from the dining room table to see my son trying to fit a 6-cup container that was half-full with dark chocolate mousse in the bag, on top of a 4-cup container full of mashed sweet potatoes and was about to put in a side of brisket in to round out the meal if he could have jammed it in there.  That’s my boy. After I stopped laughing, “Uh, son, perhaps you should use smaller containers and not try to take meal for a family of six for lunch. Just a thought. “

After we got that sorted, he was sitting in the living room, waiting for his oatmeal to be ready, whistling, whistling, at 6:15 in the morning, and loudly, never mind the three other people sleeping in the house.  Really????!!! “Dude, how about a little louder, I don’t think our neighbors can hear you.”  He flashes me his pearly whites.

He loves to make me laugh by hugging me and shaking my belly, which I remind him often is the fault of he and his sisters.  He gets me this morning and we both burst out laughing. He gives me big hugs and kisses me. So much for being quiet.

Mini-Me is my first true foray into motherhood. I had cared for my younger sister, and taken care of my step-son, but this was truly my first.  I remember the moment when he and I met for the first time.  I mean really met.  The delivery room was quiet.  Everyone had cleared out; no nurses, no doctor, no family (the crowd that had assembled for his arrival had by then dispersed). It was just him and me, staring at one another. It was like nothing I had ever experienced nor ever would again. He is my first.  We smiled at each other.  In love.

Mini will be twelve in a few months, is 5’2″ and 125 lbs. My own personal sumo wrestler.  His voice is starting to change, he has the beginnings of a mustache, and it seems like every time he wakes up he’s taller and his shoulders are a little broader. He has always been an affectionate child and I relish in those moments because I think someday perhaps he’ll be too cool to show me any love.

I take him to the bus stop.  As the bus pulls in, he opens the door and gathers his things. “Love you mom,” as he closes the door.  I roll down my window, “Have a good day.”  He turns to look at me, runs around the front of the truck, puckering up as he rounds the headlight, gets up on his toes, and kisses me, not caring about the other kids watching. “I love you, infinity to the infinitieth power mom!” He turns to get on the bus. I smile.

Pure Joy…..


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9 Responses to “Mini-Me….”

  1. Lori Says:

    I dunno if he’ll ever be too embarrassed to love on you. You’re a mom who has created bonds with her children that are stronger than almost anything else. You’ve got great kids and you’re an incredible mom. It’s always a pleasure to be with your family.

    Meanwhile, I keep having this visual of the family packed in the truck and Big Daddy singing Frank Sinatra on the drive up to CT. Sounds like a great Thanksgiving!

  2. edgeofcrazy Says:

    Well Thank you Lady on all counts. Yes, Big Daddy is in love with his own voice, much to the chagrin of the rest of the fam.

    Happy Turkey Day, Sister. Safe travels and don’t kill your sister.

    Love you mucho!

  3. Rita Zimmerman Says:

    [wipes tear from eye] very sweet. Safe travels! I’m with Lori on the Big Daddy singing Sinatra. Next Karaoke at the pool, must include Sinatra.

  4. Norma Wynne-Morrison Says:

    So lovely, I was teary eyed reading this – not to much of this stuff please – you know I am a big softy and can cry at the drop of a hat. Sentimental old fool! He is rather gorgeous I have to say and I remember that appetite when he was over here visiting with you guys, blimey!

  5. Bagel Sibley Says:

    Well. Sweet as hell. But I have to point out the correct grammar for one of your sentences: “It was just HIM and ME” is correct, not he and I. Well, that should hold you. Yep, that’s me: don’t write, just look at other smart people’s stuff and correct grammar. It’s why I’m such a successful, wealthy editor. Unh huhn. Living in poverty and all.

  6. David Miller Says:

    Ur mini-me is the man!

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