The real test of love is throwing a ball

Parenting a son requires stamina that even the most energetic and productive human is unlikely to muster 100% of the time. This is why God invented television-- most boys can be distracted just long enough for their Mama to do something unproductive and selfish-- like pee.

After her well-earned three second rest, it's off to do more running, mess-making, and terrorizing. Mama trails 10 miles behind her little bundle of joy, aiming at him with a tranquilizer gun, shooting every few seconds, and missing every time. Yes, little boys can outrun poison darts faster than Superman can leap tall buildings. Yes, little boys can run just about any distance, anytime, any day.

All of the above occurs if you parent a typical boy. But if you are a Mama to an atypical boy, as I am, the only thing you need to worry about is why your son doesn't like to do things that typical boys do. Yes, my boy runs; and yes, he is distracted by television; but he would rather walk around holding my hand; he'd rather look up at the sky and search for squirrels, birds, planes, clouds, blimps, faeries, whatever.

Today is a beautiful nearly spring day. The grass is still brown and there aren't any leaves on the trees yet, but it's warm enough to wear just a sweater and no jacket. Because I am the Meanest Mama on the planet, I decided that Evan needed to spend some time outside. I brought a little baby-sized football with us-- it is the same ball that Evan enjoys playing with inside-- he likes to hide it in his kitchen cupboards and then make Andrew or I "search" for it (it's always hidden in the same place).

We walked over to a wide expanse of brown grass where the high school marching band practices. I dropped the ball on the ground, showed Evan how to kick it and then enthusiatically encouraged him to do the same: "C'mon, Evan! Try it! Kick it!" He shook his head no, and pointed out an airplane overhead. "OK, then," I said, "Catch the ball. Mama's going to throw it to you. Here you go... hold out both your hands..." I threw the ball. No reaction. I smiled and nodded and encouraged some more. Evan looked at me like I was a retarded seal throwing a fish in the air. He picked up the ball, walked back to his stroller, and put it in the seat. We weren't going to be playing any ball. Not today, and maybe not ever.

He took my hand, and led me around the grass. Every once in awhile he'd squat down and point out some random piece of rubbish on the ground: a flattened plastic water bottle, a dried up leaf, half of a dirty shoelace. And I thought, "What am I supposed to learn from this?" Get close to things that are new to you. Pay attention. And when you back away, point in wonder, and say, "Hm? Hm?"