There we were giggling long after bedtime. I was taking Richard through the delights of exponents and like mathematical warthogs, we were joyfully square-rooting things. We moved on to times tables (hey, it’s always a good time for random times-tabling) and then he flipped it around and starting quizzing me on French. We got quiet for a while (French will do that to a person) and he gave me a big hug and said, “I’m so glad that you are my mom. You’re so smart, mom.”
It’s times like this when I come closest to crying. Really simple things will set me off. I’m so glad it’s summer holidays and there is no pressure to get to sleep on time. It gives us time to talk and get to know each other. I listen to his stories, I tell him stories, sometimes we make up stories together. We giggle and laugh. Small moments. Precious moments. Moments where I see the inner workings of his incredible mind. Moments to be proud of.
I always knew that being a mom was awesome. I just never realized what awesome really means.