to do lists

I was waiting for Luc to put on his shoes this morning, something he really wanted to do himself, which is fine, but it can take a while and we were running late. I was counting my deep breaths and fighting the urge to just do it for him, which he would hate, when finally, in a funny-friendly-exasperated voice, I said, “Dude, come on, I’ve got things to do!”

He looked up calmly and said, “I have more things to do than you do, Mom.”

Surprised, and, I have to admit, a bit skeptical, I said, “You do?”

“Yes.”

I started counting off on my fingers. “I’ve got laundry, dishes, clean up the yurt, get ready for your birthday party, write a novel, do yoga, and be sweet to you every chance I get. What have you got?”

He counted on his fingers, too. “I’ve got to blow bubbles, find my pirate hat, wait for my movie to come from netflix, draw a picture of a liopleurodon because I haven’t done that one yet, play outside, poop, and do my dragon puzzle. And find some leaves for my sculpture. That’s more than you.”

It’s just the old standard way of thinking, isn’t it, that would value my list as more important than his. But it’s not. Not to him. And why would what is important to one human (me) be more valid than what is important to another human (him)? We’re at different parts of life, sure, but one age is not more important than another age. He knows that. I guess I needed the reminder.

“Wow,” I said. “I stand corrected. You’re a busy guy.”

“Yes. I am.” He finished his shoes. Cue the celebration! “Okay, I’m ready.”

Have I mention how much I love him?

(And for anyone who might not know, a liopleurodon is an ocean dwelling pliosaur, as long as a blue whale, with wicked, spooky teeth. I looked it up.)