little man

Yesterday Ezra came up to me in the hallway looking glum.

"What's wrong, bud?" I asked him. (I say "bud" every so often so he'll think I'm cool and want to be my friend.)

"I'm sad about my life," he said.

"Holy shit," I said--but not out loud. "If this is Ezra at five, what the hell are we in for?"

"You said you would do something and you didn't do it," he went on. "And so my life is stupid."

I fucked up and now his life is in the shitter? That is wrong in so many ways. First of all, I never fuck up. Anything. Ever. And then there is the small matter of how he internalized my faults and assumed the burden of my mistake and also wildly overreacted. But because I'm a really self-involved parent, I just wanted to know what I had promised and not delivered on.

"You told me you'd switch the clothing around in our dresser and you didn't do it." It was true. When Ezra expressed interest in picking out his own clothes the other day, I offered to rearrange the shelves so that his summer clothing was easily accessible. And then I had forgotten about it.

"I'm sorry, Ezra," I told him. "You're right."

"But Mommy," he said. "When you say you're going to do something and then you don't do it, it makes me not trust you anymore."

"Holy shit," I said--but not out loud. "If this is Ezra at five, what the hell are we in for?" Some things just bear repeating.