People Charmer

B and I just took a flight together. It's been three years since we got on a plane.

We flew down so he could hang out with his dad and fam in Arkansas for a week.

We took the 5:30am flight out of Hancock (thanks for your help with that,  Miss Liz!). Who wants to wake up at 3 in the morning to start their day?

Not us.

But we did it.

He was a trooper to the best of his tired, seven-year-old ability.

And as a reward for this first feat of the day, we got to watch the sunrise over the clouds. 

The friendly skies

My word. What a nice piece of work.

Then we got to Chicago O'Hare International airport. Have you heard of it? It's pretty big. Wink.

We, of course, landed at the gate furthest from our next departure, but we had two hours to get there. Even with time on our side, it was not easy.

He wanted to lay on the floor for a while. He wanted to go the other way. Etcetera. 

But alas, that was not acceptable behavior for a tiny hugger in a giant airport. I "threatened" to put our bracelet on. You know, the one that connects his wrist to mine with the stretchy cord in between?

He was not having that at all. 

Fine. At least I could use it as a warning.

But he was so tired and slightly out of it that I could not get him to cooperate on his feet.

Plan C.

I slung my purse and his backpack over my shoulders. I hoisted him onto my shoulders, looked at the map, found our gate, and hoofed it like the determined mother I have become.

Once at our gate, I felt like we had freedom. Freedom to eat, pee and wander a bit. 

We took a couple walks (and runs) through our terminal because I figured that was our exercise for the day.

But this is Brady P Pie Poe Jonesie of Love. So we don't just walk somewhere.

I should have taken a video of him. He paraded himself through rows of people waiting to board. He said "hello!" to every single person on this parade route. If they didn't respond, he stopped and said it again until they returned the greeting. He blew kisses in the air like the queen on her float.

Needless to say, he charmed the hearts of everyone on his route -- even if they were trying to sleep.

This kid.

It was all his idea.

My heart just bursted as I watched him take control of this situation and spread good vibes. I could hear people muttering: Well, he is bringing good energy to this day! Oh, isn't he precious! I needed that. What an angel. 

And so on.

The way that people smile when he reaches out to them is sooooo big. So deep. So real and so healing. 

I know I say this often, but I just can't believe that I get to be his mother. One of his guides through life. One of his cheerleaders and nurturers. What an honor.

What a gift.

Ironically, the last post was about interconnectedness. I feel like O'Hare airport is one of the hubs on this planet where people from all countries and cultures congregate. 

It touched my heart so deeply to be amongst so many different types of people. The immersion of culture is not something we've felt for at least three years, and that experience filled a void in me.

It's because of that that I can't wait to go there again tomorrow and get our fill of people. I'm sure he'll be excited too.

He even charmed his way into the cockpit!

Okay, see you back in da Harbor!

Soccer Obsession

I try to pick up on the things that Braeden likes, so he can further explore them.  

He loved the horses in his books, so I took him to see horses.  Maybe he'll be a rancher someday.  He loved whacking sticks on various objects to hear the different sounds they make, so I made sure he had a couple types of drums around.  Maybe he'll be a drummer someday.

See what I mean?  The little things that a child expresses interest in may be their future career, so I try to let them all blossom.  Then they can choose later in life.

When we were in Arkansas last winter, Grammy and Grampy Wais sent Brady P. some cooler pajamas to wear on those hot nights.  One pair had four different kinds of sports balls all over them.  Each time he wore the pants, he would point to a soccer ball.

"Soccer ball," I told him.

He looked down his leg to find another one.  And another one.  And another one.

"Soccer ball.  Soccer ball.  Soccer ball," I repeated for each pointing.

I don't know if he liked the pattern of the soccer ball or what, but he never pointed to the baseball, football or basketball.  Ever.  And the soccer ball was incessant.

"Okay, Brady P.  I get it.  We'll get you a soccer ball," I told him.

So I bought my tiny son a soccer ball with the classic black and white pattern like the one on his pj pants.  Supposedly, my two-and-a-quarter year old son, who just learned to walk steadily a couple months prior, was going to learn how to kick a soccer ball.

When I put it in the cart, he gave me the owl face.  This face, where his eyes get big and his mouth turns into a little "o," means that he is the most excited he can be.

"Yes," I thought.  "He likes the soccer ball!"

Then we had to learn how to kick it.  

Brady P. had been chucking rocks and tossing balls for months before that, but never did we think about giving it a good kick.  Well, in soccer you're not supposed to use your hands, so it was time to learn how to kick.

I thought it would be a fun thing to do on a fresh Arkansas spring day.  But instead of having a kicking spree, I observed the workings of the neurological pathways of my child's brain.  Yes, it was a lesson in brain science right there in the driveway.

I told Brady P. to kick it.  To use his foot.  He knew what his foot was, but I watched as my words entered his ears.  I heard his wheels turning as he looked at his foot and the ball.  And I heard them spin as he tried to figure out how to move his foot toward the ball to make it move forward like I had demonstrated for him.

Wow.  That was a lot of processing for a little guy!

He didn't get it the first day.  Or the second.  Or the third.  But, for some reason, Brady P. was obsessed with the soccer ball.  When he saw it on the porch, he would point and shout, "Eh!"

So we tried and tried.

About a week later, he had it.  He could kick it, run after it and kick it again.  He could kick it with the right timing after I kicked it to him.  He was getting it!  Little Brady P., who pointed to a cartoon on his jammy pants, was kicking a soccer ball down the driveway.

I was so proud of him.

Once we got back to the Copper Country, and the weather warmed up a bit, we got the soccer ball out again.  He still loves that thing and enjoys working on his kicking skills.

Sprinting to the soccer ball

Look at him.  He even has the serious soccer face!

One evening, on our walk to throw rocks, we spotted a young man volleying a soccer ball to himself.  This guy was amazing.  He kicked it up, over his head, behind and side to side without letting it hit the ground.  Braeden plopped down in the middle of the road and watched him in awe.

Eventually the guy's ball hit the ground and rolled toward Brady P.  Brady P. stood up, ran after it and grabbed it in his arms.

"Can you kick it to the man?" I asked him.

He threw it to the man instead.  Perhaps he was massively humbled.

"He really liked watching you," I told the young man.

The man kicked it back to Braeden, and Braeden kicked it back to him.  After chatting a bit more, I noticed he had an accent.  Woah, what if that guy was a professional soccer player from a different country?

When Braeden got up to leave, he waved good-bye to the man.  "I think you made his day!" I told the man as we walked away.  "Thank you!"

"You're welcome!" he said as he waved to Braeden.  We should have gotten his autograph.