Turner is in love with La La, whom he affectionately refers to as Laura only when she isn't around, sometimes even calling her Laura La La. There is nothing that anyone else can do for Mr. Turner except step out of the way to allow La La to take over. This is wonderful for Laura who is missing Turner terribly already. She is a woman of tears and shedding them she has been. He knows. He can sense the change coming and though he says "moving to Tucson" and we've tried to prepare him that Laura and Chiara and Zeus stay at their houses while we move on, I know we all haven't fully grasped what that will mean for us in the near future. So while I relish my time with my favorite boy in the world today, I was happy to turn him over to his most favoritest person in the world once he and I returned from a little walk today. Our short time together reminded me that I get to be the mommy again soon doing both the fun and not so fun things that come with that title.
We walked around the pool today and buried dried palm tree leaves, matching their shapes (think HUGE banana peel still in tact) with the shapes of other flowers and concrete walls. We found an appropriate place for safe keeping and buried the two leaves deep in the brush of the flowerbed. Then we checked out the snail that was dried on the wall, left over from last night's rushing rainstorm. We sang our adventure walk song several times. We ran circles after each other, both of us clad in our swimsuits and shoes, not worrying about what was jiggling where. We scavenged for birds and other wildlife to find nothing but disappointment.
After a quick shower, Turner popped his favorite treat: popcorn. He poured it into a bag, and we headed out to explore the Naples neighborhood here. Though I try to not be impressed by the houses and more impressed by people's willingness to put their extravagant materialism on display, I pushed Turner's stroller around the bay with my mouth gaping open trying to name the flowers to him while peeking over the bushes at the multi-million dollar vacation homes. It is unreal that this is someone's reality.
We walked all around the bay, throwing popcorn in at several spots to tempt the fish we could not see. We discussed the "big boats" and how even though Turner calls them Pa Pa's boat they are much different. At one point in our journey I unstrapped him and we sat on the dock together throwing popcorn into our mouths and the greenish water. He pointed out ripples in the water and strived to fill the open fish mouths he envisioned with popcorn kernels. I told him stories about my times sitting on the dock as a child in Dale Hollow Lake feeding the ducks.
Sitting there, with Turner cushioned by my lap, sweat pouring down our faces I wanted to cry. There are so many in the world who don't know the luxury of idle time. So many mothers who jump from task to task, child to child, job to job and don't get the extreme pleasure of hearing their two-year old describe to you where he sees something in the water that is make-believe. Each time he looked up from my lap, his nose only inches from mine, I was reminded what a wonderful space I have in the world beside him. How extremely fortunate I am to have earned an education and the freedom in life to choose where I go and when.
So as the rain opened up on us while we chatted over Ben and Jerry's ice cream, I was full of life and energy, completely happy to sprint in the rain to return my favorite person to his favorite person. And, as always, she was waiting with the open arms that are full of the kinds of treasures only Turner's Aunt La La can provide. How rich his life and memories and childhood and experiences will be and already are simply because she takes every single moment to reinforce how unique, special, smart, handsome, and grounded he is. I appreciate her compliments of me, but they aren't necessary. Every sweet kiss, hug, and "Wa Wa" Turner shares with her shows me the effect she is having on him. Even when she is not holding his hand, nestling his face, or coddling his self-esteem her work continues to shape him into the man we nonverbally agree that we hope he will become. I suppose that is the greatest gift to me, as his mother, that his favorite person parents the way I parent (or, more likely, I learned my best parenting moves from her) and that her visions for Turner are as boundless as mine. Turner couldn't have picked a more special number one.
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