Last night Spencer came to me and said, "Mom, this book is really hard. Can you read some of it with me?" I was in the middle of finishing up a task and I said, "Give me a few minutes to wrap this up and I will." Apparently that didn't suffice. He walked out of my office and I heard his heavy steps recede down the hallway. Bad Mom, I know, I know. But if I stopped what I was doing every single time a child in this house needed something then nothing would ever get done.
I quickly finished up and went to find him, read with him and erase my bad Mom guilt. I walked down the dark hall and there it was, smack in the middle of my path. A glowing teepee that had been dragged from the playroom, with a steady voice from within that wasn't Spencer's. Because everyone knows the best place to read is tucked in a teepee, with a flashlight, in a dark hallway. I saw the flashlight moving and two shadows inside, heads together, and heard my older son reading steadily through the difficult words. Their growing bodies, at ages nine and ten easily filled the entire teepee they've had since they were two and three.
So bad Mom listened for a bit, then tiptoed away and let good brother save the day. Maybe she isn't so bad after all.