That's what they call eyes - the windows to the soul. Now I'm not sure who "they" are, but I think that they are on to something. After all, the majority of people will list the eyes as one of the top attributes that they notice first when meeting someone new. They can express every emotion a human being can experience. They let lovers speak without words. They tell a mother a child's secrets. And the other day, my son's eyes offered me a surprising revelation.
Chunk and I were out and about running errands. It was just your usual day of grabbing coffee - or in Chunk's case, "hot cha-cit wif cweem!" (Otherwise known as hot chocolate with whipped cream). Then we stopped to pick up milk, buy stamps, and dropped in at dispatch to check the work schedule and to let Chunk con my boss out of some candy. It was sunny, the radio was playing, and the time slipped by for me and my boy. In fact, it was lunchtime before we knew it, and I marveled at how quickly my almost-kid-free school days tend to fly by.
We were having such a nice afternoon that rather than run home for yet another ho-hum PB&J, I decided that we would have a date and hit the Golden Arches. We don't go to McDonald's very often, (although still more than I'd like) but I had a new mommy magazine full of clutter busting tips I'd never implement and another chicken-of-the-month recipe and I was anxious to read through it while Chunk played in the plastic tunnels and squealed from the top level of the play place.
So there we were, eating and playing and reading and it strikes me that my Chunk is getting big -
I can actually hold a somewhat coherent conversation with him now, and I usually understand at least half of what he is saying. So while we talked about colors and chicken nuggets and sisters, I thought about how big he is and how fun...and how much he looks like Charles. It's uncanny....in fact it's almost creepy. Although it's most obvious in Chunk, all three of my kids have very strong W family features, to the point where sometimes I'm a little melancholy over the fact that they don't look just a little bit more like me. But at the end of the day they are healthy and amazing and beautiful and I just don't sweat it. There are so many other things that are so much more important. And I know that. But still.
A quick glance at the clock tells me that it's time to run - it's almost time to hit the bus stop to grab the girls. So we wrestle Chunk's feet into his sandals, slurp down the last of our drinks through our straws, toss our trash and head out the door. I snap the buckles on Chunk's car seat and climb up behind the wheel. I tell Chunk how much fun it was to have lunch with him, and I glance in my rear view mirror to see his response.
And in that moment, I catch my breath. The mirror is angled at just the right angle, and all I can see is Chunk's sweet little face from the nose up.
He has my eyes.
Sure....he looks just like a little carbon copy of Charles. There is no doubt that he's a W kiddo. The guys at Google call him mini-Chuck. He is the image of his father. It's adorable and kind of freaky.
And his eyes are the same beautiful sky blue that Charles' eyes are - maybe that's why I never noticed. His facial features are his Daddy's......but when he smels and his little face crinkles up, I notice the shape of his eyes.....
Those are all mine. They may be blue and not brown, but he has my eyes.
Now really, does it change anything? Not really. I know that. I don't feel any differently about my son, or about myself. I realize that my who my children are and who they become will be shaped by our actions and our lessons and their own individual personalities more than anything. I know that in the scope of the bigger picture, looks don't matter. And that in my eyes all three of my children are the most beautiful children in the world.
But for some reason, as I pull out of the parking lot, I can't stop smiling. And I think that's okay too.
