Fifty-minutes-worth.

(For days my blog hasn't let me upload pictures.  Not sure why?  I can't believe I've filled my quota...AGAIN.  I can't remember if they notify you when you're full or if you have to go about buying more space yourself.  Hmm.  Anyone remember?  Well, I'm just gonna post this anyway.)

(Imagine with me, if you will, a kitchen table, basking in the sunlight, serenely spread with neatly folded piles of clean clothes.  See it?  Me, too.  Good.)

To you, these may look like assorted piles of folded laundry (visualize, people...).  And, you would be right.

But to me, this was tangible proof of fifty minutes of pure, uninterrupted conversation with Brigham about the ins and outs of middle school...according to him.  Just the two of us.  No distractions.  No fighting to get a word in edgewise because he had no one to compete with for conversation.

Brigham is a quality-time-love-language kind of guy, so this was just what we/he needed.  Too often he goes about quietly doing what he supposed to, taking a back seat to a more needy younger sibling (that job rotates, if you know what I mean).  

It was pretty sweet, listening to him ramble, and a subtle way to check in and feel what he needs from me without him really noticing.

Kids these days have to maneuver through some pretty intense stuff.  As they get older, it's less about scraped knees and more about bruised spirits.  Knees heal quickly.  A bruised spirit can take a lifetime.

I just want so badly to arm him with support and confidence so that when the bruises come, he'll stand up, brush himself off, and keep moving--better, for having taken the fall.  Just a sentimental little mother-hope, I guess.

Come to think of it, folding laundry is a good date-night, too.
Good conversation, FREE, efficient....

Ben always has looked rather dashing folding a pair of socks.