It was the big cross country race at the beach this morning. I love cross country. My son Nathan was always the fastest toddler (can toddlers even be fast?) and when he was old enough, he joined the cross country team, practicing every morning at 8am, by running with the other kids around the school. We did this for three years. This year was the first year my youngest, Jake, was old enough. Jake was focused... he'd been waiting for his turn for three years, because he always wants to be like his brother. Jake would practice competitively. Mr. Taylor would say "go!" and Jake would go all out. Three weeks of mornings like this. I didn't even try to tell Jake about pacing, because, well, he's six.
Today, my head fell off. I went with the other grade one parents to the starting line, lining up with Jake and the other grade one boys. I had been here before with Nathan. For three years I had turned into my son: living race day as him. Nervous for him. Aggressive for him. God help us if they get into hockey. So, I was expecting Jake to do well, but like Nathan, somewhere around a hundred and something.
One of the other moms and I raced back to get a good spot on a hill almost at the finish line. Around the spot where you'd need to encourage a guy if he felt tired or felt like walking. And then the horn blew. We looked at the swarm of 6 year old boys running on the beach, through the trees, over the hills, and finally heading to finish line. It's a 3 K race. There's time. The first kid came in. Big stretch. Another and then another. Again I am expecting Jake to be the middle of the pack like his brother was. I counted 5 kids, and realized that if Jakey made it in the top 30, he would move on to the city finals. Maybe Jake would be in the twenties.
And then I saw him. He was running. Fast. I screamed his name. He looked for me. He ran faster. He was neck in neck with another boy. He overtook him. He crossed the finish line. Seventh. He ran into my arms. I was crying, telling him crazy things ("you're so fast!" "I'm so proud!""You did it!") and crazy enough, Jake was crying too. He buried his face in my sweater. I then was carrying him around, his face on my shoulder, his legs around my waist. Finally we were asked to come back to the group.
Other parents and kids came to laud and praise Jake. I felt the centre of the world was Jake. It was the best feeling I'd ever had. Ever. It was as if I was Jake and I was on top of the world. I joked with my fellow parents "It's not about me anymore! My ego centre has successfully transferred to my son! I am now living my life through Jake!" I know this is not an uncommon feeling. And I am sure I have felt it before, but it was so intense and glorious today, that I truly became more of a mom than I had ever been before. This is pure joy.
I joked with the other parents that Jake's method was to try and keep up with Ethan Swaby, one of his best friends in the grade ahead of him. Jake and I crowded together with the other parents, including Ethan's, as we watched the grade two boys. Ethan was one kid behind first, and then in a swell of energy, overtook him and won the race. We went ballistic! Jake burst into tears and threw himself into me. "What's wrong?" "I'm so happy, I'm crying!" And then my son also experienced joy for another. "Jake! It's great that you're crying! That's the best kind of happiness! I do it all the time! I'm still crying with happiness because of you!" And then my joyous, tearful, fast, six year old and I, went to find Ethan so Jake could hug him. That's happy.
Get some mommy advice from Rajashaunna - mom with no real mom skills on how special a birthday for her stepdaughter can be... guess kids need your attention and love, huh?