I Hope I Remember...

I was reminded about how quickly Robby has grown while looking at picture of past Halloweens. Memories came flooding back, especially from his first Halloween. Then I looked at him sitting on the couch, and I wanted to remember every detail.  I know that time has a way of tempering memories, so I am writing this blog in hopes of providing myself with a reminder for when he is grown, we are visiting him in his home, and our roles are reversed.

I hope I remember that I should sit on his couch, preferably within 15 minutes of finishing dinner, and squawk that I'm hun-gry. I will turn down the first two snack options, only to begrudgingly accept vanilla pudding. I won't eat the pudding, but I will open it so that I can leave the lid on top of the television and the little tub of sticky goo on his favorite rocker. 

I hope I remember that when I am eating a cookie that I should always leave the last bite uneaten. This is apparently the worst part of the cookie and should be put down on top of the closest fixture.

I hope I remember that cups and glasses are for single use only. If I want a drink, I will leave my glass on the coffee table and get a new one out of the cabinet. If this becomes too tiring, I shall simply scream for Robby to fetch me a drink, expecting a quick response regardless of his location.

I hope I remember that throw blankets are an acceptable replacement for a napkin. If a blanket isn't available, I will utilize his cat.

I hope I remember to change my clothes in the living room instead of my bedroom. I will leave trails of socks and dirty underwear strewn throughout the prominent living areas. I'll pick them up and put them in the hamper, but only after he asks no fewer than three times. 

I hope I remember to leave my shoes in inconvenient and nonsensical locations. This will include, but will not be limited to the microwave oven, inside the refrigerator and the top of the cat tower. I will immediately forget where I placed them, requiring Robby to run around frantically in the morning so that we can keep our schedule. I may become distracted and begin playing with the closest toy.

I hope I remember that sticky, dirty or hands laden with wet paint do not need to be washed. Wiping them clean on my pants, or on the bottom of Robby's shirt, will suffice.

I don't like video games but I hope I remember to find one with the most annoying sound effects. I will wait until he settles into his chair to watch the news before turning the TV to game mode. If I become frustrated in the game, I will scream and cry, throwing blame on Robby (despite knowing that he has nothing to do with my gaming skills).

I hope I remember to pee on his bathroom floor. Not enough to create a puddle or stain, but enough so that the urine aroma hits him every time he enters the space. I will remind Scott that lifting the toilet seat is optional, and to ignore the dribbles left behind. Speaking of the bathroom, I am looking forward to screaming, "Robby come here, it's a sticky poop and I need you to wipe my bum." 

I hope I remember to fuss and complain when washing my hair. I will scream that soap is in my eyes despite the fact that I will be wearing shower goggles. I will also try to leave more water on the walls and floor than in the tub. 

When it is time for bed, I hope I remember to solicit Robby's help when trying to find my favorite stuffed toy. We will walk through the entire house, look under cushions and in closets. I will smile when Robby finally finds it after 5 minutes of searching, tucked into the pile of covers or under the pillow on my bed. 

I hope I remember to sleep in during the week but to wake up before dawn on the weekends. I will tiptoe into his bedroom and begin to immediately request food and a cartoon. His pleas for additional sleep will only intensify my efforts.

In spite of all of these little quirks, I hope I always remember how precious and sweet my little boy can be. I hope that I remember the way he always wipes off a kiss so that he can put it in his heart. I hope I always remember the sticky little fingers entwining mine when we walk out of his school. I hope I always remember that someday I will miss these days.