Yesterday, dropping Griffin off at school was a sweet experience. It is not always so...actually, it is not usually so. Most of the time it is hectic and rushed with a dose of tongue lashing thrown in. We are dealing with my Griffin, after all.
My Griffin who marches to his own drummer. My Griffin who would rather be in the present moment than preparing for a future one. My Griffin who has trouble staying on task. My Griffin who forgets important details--alot. Details like--oh, I don't know--lunches, homework, jackets, books, underwear...those sorts of details. My Griffin who, by the time we reach school, makes me want to pull all my hair out, dance crazy on it, and take a Xanex.
But that wasn't the case yesterday. Yesterday, when he got out of the car after his sister, he said, as he usually does, "I love you, Mom," and as I watched him walk away, the view of his untied shoes, legs that are quickly outgrowing his pants, and that rooster tail on the back of his little red head pierced my heart with an aching tenderness. Before I could stop myself, I honked the horn. He turned, his face a question mark until I blew him a kiss, and fast as lightening his hand shot out to grab it, his expression turning to delight. Our little sign from preschool days, remembered.
In that flash, I glimpsed that little person, my baby boy: He is still there. I could see him. And he is, always to be, My Griffin.