Going on a treasure hunt
X marks the spot
Three lines down
And a question mark.

Noah sidles up to me a few times each week with the same request.  It is asked with enough regularity that I can see it coming before he speaks, the words so common that they blend together into one:  “Momwillyouscratchmyback?”  Sometimes, I engage; but often I don’t.  The latter instances are when I’m about to get on a conference call, take the dog out, make something to eat, fall asleep or blog.  Noah is notorious for bad timing but arguably his mother is notorious for perpetual motion.  Deuce.

But the other night when asked right before bedtime, I stopped everything I was doing and lay down on his bed next to him and gave him a good long scratch, worthy of any spa service.

“Hey, No – do you think you will always let me scratch your back?  Even when you are a grown up?”  I ask.

 ”I don’t know,” he says.

 ”You know Uncle Justin will still accept a back scratch from Nanny … in public… and he’s a grown up.”


 We lay there silently for a few moments as I tickled his shoulder blades, drew lines down his spine, and listened to my child breathe.  I could feel my toes on the far edge of the mattress and noticed that his toes were just about lined up with mine.  A few more inches and we will be the same height.  How many more years do I have left where I can be this physically close to my son and neither of us are self conscious about it.  His voice interrupts my thoughts.

 ”You know the thing about back scratching is that after you do it for a while, it doesn’t feel good anymore.”

 ”Want me to stop?”


 ”Ok.  Good night.  Love you.  Sleep well.  See you in the morning.”

 ”Love you too, Mom”

 Another day done.  What day is it again? 

 ”Hey, No - maybe tomorrow you’llletmescratchyourbackagain?” 

“Sure Mom.”

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