There's a New Cook in Town

Dinner tonight was courtesy of my eight-year-old.

A couple weeks ago while I napped ("Today we're going to work on telling time," I'd told him. "Wake me up at 3:45..."), Bergen honed his culinary skills. And by that, I mean that he not only watched the Food Network, but grabbed a notebook and jotted down the featured show's recipe.

He must've figured it was a winner.

To his great pride, Bergen prepared his main course for dinner tonight (with a bit of help from Mom). It was delish. In fact, the whole family raved and Bergen ate two servings.

I thought you might like the recipe... just as Bergen recorded it that afternoon:

Mini Meet Ball Samwiches
eggs
corn flacks
parsly
2 table spoon ketcup
2 table spoon oliv oil
cheese
salt
peper
half pond Beef
$375 for 15 minits
wroll up in hand tell meet Ball shape.
Serv on buns.

Shhhh.... he's sleeping

I'm typing this as my 10-year-old sleeps next to me on the living room floor. To tell you the truth, I kind of wish I was him -- but my goal is to post to this blog every weekday... and seeing as it's now 11:11 p.m., I'm getting this one in just under the wire.

Christian had trouble falling asleep tonight. He had hockey camp this afternoon followed by an evening of pizza and kickball at a friends' house, so those endorphins were really pumping today. I've been there. So when he wandered out of his bedroom at 10:15, I told him to grab a pillow and blanket and settle in next to me so I could rub his back while I work. (Tonight, by the way, "work" equals considerable amounts of time surfing Facebook while printing a grant that's due tomorrow and putting off writing next week's column.)

So here Christian sleeps, on the floor next to where I sit. (My office is so yesterday.) He's in last year's Relay for Life T-shirt, a pair of shorts, and a mop of hair that I think is getting too long and he thinks isn't nearly long enough.

When he sleeps, Christian still looks like my little boy. His skin is creaseless and soft. His eyelashes curl above his pink cheeks. His nose is dotted with freckles. But sticking out from the blanket, his feet are as big as mine and his legs aren't far behind.

He has an e-mail account. Can edit his own videos. Knows yo-yo tricks. Yesterday, he had a personal best 5K at 25 minutes on the nose. I came in at 31 minutes, a minute from my personal best.

I remember when I was 10. I remember telling my Mom with a sigh, "I'm in the double-digits now," as if she and I were suddenly in the same club. I remember feeling somehow wiser. Like I'd left something behind.

I just reached out and pushed some of Christian's hair behind his ear. Instinctively, his hand raised in his sleep, but fell again before it reached mine. He fascinates me, this boy who taught me more than a decade ago how to be a mother.

"We're both learning how to do this," I tell him sometimes when we butt heads. "You're learning how to grow up and I'm learning how to mother you as you grow up. We have to help each other."

This summer, Christian will be 11. "A preteen," he tells me with a bit of a swagger. It's a time of contradiction. He doesn't want to go to sleep without a cuddle, but he also doesn't want me going in the locker room with him at hockey practice.

As he bridges this time -- this child whose leg is crossing mine as he sleeps -- I hope he stays safe, of course, and happy, and the good-natured boy I know. And I hope I don't screw it up... don't stand in the way of letting him become who he's supposed to be.

I think that's going to be my greatest challenge: Letting this peaceful little boy dreaming beside me grow up.

Oh happy day! (And a recommendation to boot!)

One of my very first thoughts every morning, even before I even get out of bed, is this: What do I have to look forward to today?

There's always something--and I think I could make a pretty compelling argument that having something to look forward to is a significant component of happiness. (I mean, think of the alternative: Nothing to look forward to?) So whether I'm due to finish up a deadline, meet a friend for lunch, or carve out an hour to read uninterrupted(!), I take a few seconds every morning to acknowledge these activities before I start my day.

So this morning, I'm lying in bed (laying? I can never remember; must look that up) when Christian wakes me with breakfast. This is his new thing. He's been bringing me breakfast in bed every morning since Mother's Day: One bowl of Cinnamon Life on a plate with a napkin, and a cup of juice. After he leaves me with breakfast, and after I think about how lucky I am (Seriously. Can I just keep my kids young forever?!), I think: Okay, what else do I have to look forward to today?"

And that's when I remembered: The first meeting of my new small-group writing workshop! Tonight I'm sitting down with a new group of students for a four-week workshop. I cannot tell you how excited I am to get to know these writers and read what they've written.

We'll start the evening with a few writing exercises -- likely a few that I've gleaned from Abigail Thomas' book, Thinking About Memoir. Thomas is one of my favorite writers, and if you're looking for a good read, I highly recommend her book, A Three Dog Life.

Stephen King called A Three Dog Life, "The best memoir I have ever read." For other reviews, visit Thomas' Web site here.

Under the "Getting Started" link on Thomas' site, Thomas recounts how she got started in writing -- and offers a few writing exercises, too. Worth checking out.