I felt like laughing... but mostly I felt like crying.

I prayed for some quiet. Isaac was sleeping, Eve had barely stopped fussing in her crib, I knew I had an hour tops before one or both of them woke up. I set Eli up with some games on pbskids.org, locked the front door and went to lay down in my room. I could hear Eli's chair squeaking on the laminate floor as he shifted in his seat so I turned the fan on and put my head under my pillow. The clock was ticking and I needed a nap.

It was only 35 minutes later that I was rattled awake by Eli banging around in his bedroom, where Isaac should have been sleeping. I drug myself out of bed and trudged into his room to preparing a nice little lecture about waking mommy up. Isaac looked a little bleary eyed himself and picked him up out of bed for a snuggle. But where had Eli gotten off to? He had suddenly disappeared. Out in the living room I immediately noticed the front door wide open. My heart started beating a little faster and I stepped onto the stoop and looked toward the street.

Now here is the moment when my world reworked itself in a matter of minutes. How often can we pinpoint the moments when growing up occurs? How often can we say, in the moment, that what is happening is the beginning of a new era? Most of the time we just stumble along scratching our heads bemoaning how quickly our kids are growing. But this time I saw it happening.

Eli was out in the road, coming around behind an ice cream truck, giving the ice cream man a casual wave with his free hand, his other clutching two firecracker pop sickles. The road is far enough away from my front door that I could barely hear the 300 pound ice cream man in his little three wheeled cart say, "See you later," over his shoulder as he pulled away. I think I literally went into shock. I stood and watched Eli come toward me. I don't remember what I said to him. I know I didn't yell or even get angry. I do remember what Eli said to me. I had sat down on the front step and put my forehead in my hands. It was quiet for minute. "I'm sorry." he said. At least he knew he had done something wrong. Then Eli pointed out that he didn't get hit by a car, that the ice cream man wasn't' a stranger, he was just the ice cream man, and that if someone did take him away, they would bring him back later. "I will always come back, Mama," he said. I could hardly stand it.

Eli told me later that he ran outside when he heard the music from the truck and had told the ice cream man to, "Wait just a minute." He ran back inside and into his room where his little bother was sleeping. He took the plug out of the bottom the the ceramic car bank he and Isaac share and shook, jostled and pounded all the money out onto the floor. That is when I woke up. (And Isaac too) By the time I trudged to the front door, It was all over. I still don't know how much he gave that man. I am pretty sure he was either swindled by an cynical, jaded, fat man with crushed dreams, or granted a screaming deal by a sweet soul who loves children and couldn't say no to the poor little shoeless kid who's parents are nowhere in sight.... "How much money did you give him," I asked. "four", he said The ice cream man gave him a nickle back.

I sat outside with my two boys sharing the pop sickles that had brought such a poignant yet elusive shift to my world. I guess the bottom line is that Eli doesn't need me anymore the way I thought he did. Yes, I will be there to make sure that he doesn't get run over, that he doesn't get snatched by a stranger. But he doesn't need me to explain to him that we have to trade money for ice cream, he doesn't need me to flag down the ice cream man down, or ask him politely to wait a minute while he gets his money. He doesn't need me to help him pick our what he wants or explain to him that he only has enough money for this or that. He doesn't need me to remind him to think about his little brother. He is all ready walking out my door. And you have to know what I mean by that.