Mon Petit Bleuet

bleuetHere’s where I do the standard mommyblogging thing, and gush about Mother’s Day. Well okay, lots don’t gush, lots vent. But this is gushing.

I didn’t have to make breakfast, and was served what I wanted. Leif brought home roses for Cameron to give to me. And I unwrapped a hand-print stamped picture frame that Cameron made for me. But it was his note from school, so obviously written by him and not a phrase copied off the blackboard, that really made my day.

For those who find the note challenging, the gist of it is, “When I’m playing, my mother says to me: Cameron, I love you. Practice your dictee (spelling), Cameron. I want to go for a bike ride with you, my little mountain blueberry.”

It was that last part that made me hug him extra hard. I toss off, “Jellybean,” as a cutesy nickname for him, without really thinking about it. I’d thought that if he thought of himself by a nickname, or if he thought of me calling him by one, it would be that. But I was clearly mistaken. And sometimes my little guy is so wackadoo and tuned out of things that I really wonder how much he gets about what is going on around him.

I use Blueberry for quiet times, snuggles, reassuring. “You’re my little mountain blueberry,” I tell him, and remind him, “And I picked you.”

Clearly, these moments mean more to him than the casually and frequently handed out, Jellybean.

And I like that.

That he would choose a moment where I’m trying to get him to stop playing and do his dictee as a ‘feeling loved’ moment just stuns me. He gets it. Even though I make him practice his spelling, he knows I love him.  Nobody told him to write about that – there’s no way his teacher would know about bike riding and blueberries.

I like that, too.

And I love him.


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