My son likes for me to sit with him when he goes to bed. He tells me that he loves me and when I kiss his cheek, he doesn’t wipe it off the way he does on most mornings when I drop him off at school. I love that time, despite the obvious challenges involved in making sure that he falls asleep before RHONY starts.
On Wednesday night, as he was falling asleep, his face burrowed in the pillow, he said, “I wonder what it’s like to be a kid in-” and his voice trailed off. My heart swelled with pride. Because I knew he was wondering what it was like for me to be a kid in Russia. Of course, that made perfect sense. My mother’s sister is visiting from Russia and we all just had dinner together that very night! He’s interested in my childhood. What a perfect cherry to my sundae of a day–kid about to fall asleep, I’m to be left the hell alone with the computer and as he falls asleep, he asks about my childhood. I’ve obviously achieved the Olympic gold of parenting and should give seminars and share my wisdom.
So, I got ready to tell him about growing up in Russia, the harsh winters, the friends that I had, he immigration process.
“You know,” I broached the subject gently, “I am going to write a book about that.” In case he knows people in the industry.
“About what?” he asked sleepily.
“About being a kid in Russia.”
“What?” he sounded less sleepy.
“About being a kid in Russia. A book. I’m going to write it.”
“What?”
“You asked me what it was like to be a kid in Russia.”
“No, I didn’t.” He is wide awake now, sitting up in bed.
“You did, honey,” I try to smooth his hair, which is a scientific way to get people to remember things that they said just a few minutes ago.
“I said I wonder what’s it’s like to be a kitten,” he says. “You know, like Nicki.”
Oh. I’ll have to flesh out that part of my book, I guess.
One year ago ...
- The Book - 2013