Instructions

Ben turned five in April (sigh.) and has entered that most darling boy stage: The Lego Stage.

It helps that at Christmas, Josh and the girls jumped back aboard the Lego Train and spent days and days sorting and building Lego creations. How could any nearly 5-year-old boy resist that kind of temptation?

For his birthday, he wanted many Legos. One morning just after his birthday, he decided to put together his new truck. And I watched him change from a little boy to a big boy. Snap. Just like that.

We started with him asking me what step came next. I showed him in the instruction booklet and he'd follow. Within a couple of steps, he decided he didn't need me and sent me back to my piano. He leaned over the book carefully, sticking his tongue out in concentration, and looked at all his pieces, finding just the right ones. If he got stuck, he'd ask for my help, but the minute I came over, found the problem and pointed it out, he'd say, "OK OK OK. I can do it. I can do it," dismissing me again.

I was a few feet away, kind of practicing, but mostly watching my baby grow up. I'd play a few scales, watch him put the wheels on, work on a right hand Mozart passage, watch him find the windshield. And all along, he was growing up.

They do that to you, you know.

They grow. They change. They learn. They master.

Eventually they leave us behind. They say, "OK OK OK. I can do it. I can do it."

And that's how it's supposed to be.

I'm sure you can't blame me, though, for feeling like while there might be instructions for Lego creating, there aren't enough instructions for mothering little Bens (or Kates, or Sophies, or Joshes) who turn into big Bens overnight, leaving me breathless, a little tearful, but with a full full FULL heart.

(Whose heart wouldn't be full, seeing this boy and this truck? He's mine, for now, and he still needs me for many things beyond Lego creating. And I'm so so so grateful for that.)