Yesterday, Lexi Flint was kind enough to interview me for her Author Alcove blog. In her last question, she asked me to describe the perfect day, and my answer was about happy and healthy kids, productive writing and a tall glass of chocolate milk.
But then, today, I helped throw my 8-year-old son’s Halloween class party. We had orange and black bagels, played Ghost Bingo and Frankenstein Says. We did a Mummy Wrap, where four teams of students wrapped myself, two other moms and my son’s teacher in truckloads of toilet paper and anything else they could find (Post-Its, pencils, baby carrot sticks). And as we were giving out the goody bags, my son, having taken off his Luigi costume, a big sweaty mess from having crawled around the floor to wrap his mom in toilet paper, reached over and gave me one of his patented squeezes — the kind of hug that would asphyxiate you under normal circumstances, had it not been rendered by your child. The kind of hug that is bursting with unadulterated joy, that is given willingly and suddenly when the feeling strikes. And I realized, at that moment, that this was my perfect day, that not only was my son happy, but happy that I was there, that I was his mom. And that feeling, apologies to Lexi, trumps chocolate milk every time.