I am not sure what compelled me to do this, but I started writing down Sam’s words as soon as he said his first "mama." His book is a big wirebound sketchbook with nothing but the month and year written on each page and the notable words or phrases listed below. I let him scribble in it with crayons and I have terrible handwriting so it’s not much to look at. Talia’s is slightly more elegant and smaller, but follows the same concept. When I look at either of these books, I am completely transported in a way that is different than looking at pictures. Because the words are theirs, it’s like they have created their own book about their babyhood.
The same month Sam said, “mama” he also apparently said “big papi” (as in David Ortiz) and just seeing those words makes me think of him sitting on Jon’s lap watching baseball in our old apartment. It’s summer. He’s tiny, but fits perfectly in Jon’s arm. They look alike. He’s not wearing socks and I can picture his adorable feet. The sound of the game fills our house. The sound of Sam saying, “big papi” makes us laugh.
As the months progress, the words and the associated memories progress too: “Hero” (learned after Jon stopped to help victims of a car accident), “Nice time” (learned after an evening stroll for ice cream in St. Michael’s Maryland) and “big yellow moon” (learned as we changed his diaper under the night sky on a late night drive to Rhode Island). It’s particularly hard to look at October of 2006. The list has “baby pumpkin” “music” “chopsticks” and “hold hands” and then there is a two-week lag when Sam was diagnosed with diabetes and I didn't write anything down. The list continues with “hurts” “no test” “outside” “playroom” “hospital.” Like a line in the sand, those words fade and words apart from that experience begin again: “empire state building” “trewdriver” and “mommy, I love you.” The list helps me remember that at 23 months, Sam dreamt about swordfish biting his fingers at night (when we tested him) and that he wanted to know who made the trees and why we loved him so much. At age three, he asked Jon if his father got very small when he died and whether we become wooden toys when it is our time to die.
Sam is now almost five years old and the most recent entries in his book reiterate both the power that words have to make us laugh and to shape our memory. On a recent Monday, as soon as I got home from work Sam asked me if he could watch a show. Knowing that he had been with his grandparents all day I said, “I know you must have watched some TV today with grandma and grandpa” to which he replied, “I only watched two shows and the serving size is three.” Would Sam even know what a serving size is if that line had never been drawn or is he just a comedian?
The next day, Sam asked me why some kids moms pick them up from school. This came on the heels of Talia going into her "office" (aka the bathroom) and telling me she would "be back in a few hundred hours" so there's a chance they were working together to tear at my heart. Sam specifically asked if I would come pick him up. I had a meeting scheduled at that time and I explained that as much as I would love to I wouldn’t be able to do it. Later in the morning I decided to move some things around and I surprised Sam at school. When his teacher opened the door and he saw me sitting in the hallway he wasn’t surprised at all. He was so sure I would be there, that he had packed a present for me in his backpack. I took him to lunch at a sushi restaurant - just the two of us - and we talked. "Gyoza" "Is it night in Japan?" "I knew you would come today." I resolved to create a book of my own where I could glue the chopstick wrapper that we made into a triangle and write my notable thought for the day: "The serving size is being there."
