So I twist the guilt. Lay the blame on him for not giving his little man some old tools, anything "real" to touch and play with. He's too smart for the toy tools, I say. I go one step too far -
If you really cared . . .
Why do we do that to the ones we love? Guilt is too heavy on our own shoulders so we pass it on.
They leave to go do man's work and two hours later my baby son walks in with a tool kit from the hardware store. Sealed in the difficult plastic and dragged with its weight. Mind and hands ready to work beside Daddy. Excitement on his face. It's weal tools, Mommy.
He looks at me and grins. I tease him and say, Guilt gift. He shrugs. He's cutting it open and I continue to tease him, wanting to know where my guilt gift is. He shifts his eyes to mine with the same look that melted me years ago when I decided there was no other man for me.
They work side by side all day - till naptime.
My gratitude list continues . . .
when words aren't needed
forgiveness for too many words
rusted wire cutters
dirt piles
'weal tools
yellow hard hats
'penders
silver handled hammer
tape measure - 'tirty-nine, Mommy
messy chalk lines
shirtless, I'm a wourk man, Mommy
little brown hair sticking up from plastic goggles
oreo smiles
dirty little fingernails
scars on a thumb half its original size
little tool belts
bluejeans hanging
adjustable pants tabs
refurbished butcher block
My list, #'s447-465.
