Dear George Clooney

Books are magical.  The other day, Paige, Tony and I spent a few minutes talking books.  We ate our chicken noodle soup and talked about our favorite books of all time.  Of course, I didn't mention A Prayer for Owen Meany or Madame Bovary or Stoner or East of Eden.  We talked kids books.  The animation in their voices was exceptional; even Tony with his excitement of the Great Fuzz Frenzy and The Giving Tree and The Kissing Hand.  Paige is on to the series books:  Junie B., Captain Underpants and even Narnia.  I love that they read.  I love that we all share the same obsession.  I love that we can spend 20 minutes during dinner, talking about books.

The season has been up and down, up and down.  The kids are, of course, excited to get presents from Santa but the energy, the anticipation, the real excitement comes with the thought of going to Buffalo for the holiday.  "When we get to Buffalo..."  "Can I bring this to Buffalo...?"  "James is going to love...."  "I can't wait to see Andrea and Nicole..."  "Too bad Papa won't be there.  I miss him..."  All day, every day, for the past two weeks.  All day, every day...

And I cry sometimes when I think about it.
I also laugh a lot when I think about it.
I'm tired too.

Paige stopped me in my tracks two days ago.  Out of nowhere she said, "Mommy, I'd like to switch places with you for awhile."

I snorted.  "Why?"  (It was one of my down, cynical moments).

"So I can know what you're feeling."

"I'm okay Paige.  I'm happy a lot."

"And sad?"

"Yes, and sad."

"And in love?"

"Yes, and in love."

"With me and Tony!"

"Yes, with you and Tony."

"And lonely?"

"Sometimes."

"And scared?"

"Yes, sometimes."

"And worried?"

"Nah, not too much.  Things always get better."

"But mostly happy?"
"Yes, mostly happy.  Do you still want to switch places with me?"

"No.  It doesn't sound like fun, but I'd let you switch places with me for awhile because my life is pretty fun."

"Thanks Paige."

When she skipped away, I stood at the kitchen counter, dumbfounded.  She's seven.  And compassionate.  And loving.  And kind.  And my baby.

We went to the bookstore last Saturday.  I needed to get presents for teachers, mailmen, etc. (Didn't find anything there).  I told Paige and Tony, they could each pick out one book.  Tony came back with three to look over while drinking his hot chocolate.  Paige came back with nine, and was very upset that I told her she could only have one.  She picked the "Dork Diaries" - a cute story about a cute girl.  In her pile of books was one titled:  "Dear George Clooney, Will You Please Marry my Mother?"  I laughed hard when I saw it. 

"Why'd you pick that?"

"Because I wanted to see if it would help me help you find a husband."

"That's silly. I am buying it."

"For me?"

"No, for me.  You can read it when I'm done."

Hopefully, it will turn out to be another favorite; and if not, I'll at least be in Paige's shoes for a little bit while I read it.

It is amazing to me how astute kids can be; how downright psychic they can be; how compassionate and kind and magical they are.  I love books because they are very similar - astute and psychic, compassionate and kind, and magical.  I know that's why my kids love them too.  They may not be magical enough to actualize a marriage to George Clooney, but they have managed to actualize a great friendship with my kids.  And that is something to read about.