Yes, that it is a book laying next to a toilet. The one in our powder room, to be more specific. The kid enjoys a good read while sitting on the throne. I know it seems funny for me to take a picture of this, but wait until you read why I did.
You see, that particular book — Harry the Dirty Dog — was written in 1956. I bought it from an adorable book shop about 8 or 9 years ago, when kiddo was around 2, and it’s one that has remained in his possession no matter how many times we go through his books (about every 6 months). He loves it. It’s one of his favorites — one he goes back to again and again even though he’s almost double digits and living in the 21st Century.
Books have been a part of the kiddo’s life since before birth. We read him Bible stories in the womb. We’ve read books to him nearly every night of his life. He’s an avid reader, and even chooses books over Minecraft sometimes.
I love that he chose to read Harry the Dirty Dog last night. I love that he has this enduring love — this constancy — for the books read to him as an infant and toddler. I love this picture because it shows me that while our family is dealing with some BIG life-altering things (like seemingly unending cancer treatment and the prospect of moving), my little boy finds security and solace in a good old book.
Kids are resilient, I know. We are told that pretty often, usually after some kind of minor parenting fail. And I’ve always believed that when he’s overheard an argument or when I showed him how to peel vegetables and he peeled off part of his skin. He’s resilient; he’ll be fine.
But when Mom gets cancer, it’s a whole different ballgame. The things I had always done for my child were suddenly insurmountable. There was no chaperoning field trips or volunteering at school; there were months when I couldn’t drop him off or pick him up. Times when those designated to go in my stead forgot him, and the school had to call me. I even had to miss his year-end project because I was recovering from surgery.
As any mother would, I worried that all of this would negatively affect him. That he’d be scarred for life. Instead, though, he made straight As for the entire school year. He reached a big milestone spiritually. He was resilient. Someone told me that those accomplishments mean that he feels secure.
Somehow, in spite of the upheavals that Cancer caused (and still causes), my husband and I managed to keep our little one feeling safe and secure. Mostly, I credit my husband. He took over so many of my activities — reading and saying prayers nightly, dropping him off at school, attending that year-end project — and most importantly, caring for him spiritually. All while taking care of me.
I look at my son daily, wondering with amazement at how seemingly “unaffected” he is by my illness. I know he is — in the way that he occasionally snuggles up to me for longer periods of time, or how quickly he’s willing to do something for me — but for the most part he’s a happy kid.
And I realize that he’s happy because he’s loved. Books may come and go; the snuggles may disappear; but he is and always will be able to rely on our love. It’s the biggest constancy in his life.