"Plese"

Yes, I am aware of it's misspelling.  There's a reason for it and you will understand by the end.  You know it means "Please".

When we say "please" we are usually trying to be polite and get something in exchange.  We are taught from a young age (well, we should be at least) that it's the "magic word" and it will get you what you want.  All you have to do is use it.  I imagine that I say "please" about 100+ times a day.  "[Youngest Boy], please don't wipe that booger on the couch" or "[Middle Son], please put on underwear"  or "[Oldest], please stop making 'Your Mom' jokes with your brothers" to the generic "Please pick up your toys" and an occasional "Bitch PLEASE!".  As a parent you want to instill politeness in your children.  So you teach them to use it.

My kids are generally pretty good about using it.  Most of the time it goes unnoticed or unmentioned and sometimes taken for granted.  I'm probably guilty of not enough praise and a little more emphasis on the negative than I should.  Guess it's part of parenthood.  There are times where Youngest Boy will look at me with those big blue eyes and in his sweet, yet devilish voice and ask for an Uncrustable.  I'll hold it in my hand and say "What do you say?" and he will respond with a "Please" knowing that satisfaction is just a word away.  He will snatch it from my hand and skip off to some remote location of his room where he is not supposed to have food and consume it.  His belly will be full - all because he said it.

Every time we go to the store the kids ask me for trips down the toy aisle.  They don't necessarily want something (ok, who am I kidding?).  They like to look and dream about toys I can't afford to give them.  They start in with their insincere "please" fest.  Begging me for 1 more godforsaken Beyblade or just 1 more Toy Story figure - I'll hear "please" no less than 712 times per child.  Sometimes I feel bad because I don't have enough money to give them these little things.  The way that they say "please" tugs at my heartstrings.  But then I remind myself that I provide them with much, much more.  Clothing, food, shelter, love, Eddie Izzard... you know, the important things.

On Monday morning my little Tabasco (the last nickname my dad was able to grant before he died) and Youngest Boy started their 6 day visit with their father.  Mini-Me has been spared somewhat for now.  Maybe a little longer if I can manage it.  Middle Son has been having the worst time with the divorce.  He was very close with his father.  That closeness was lost over the last year that Ex Douchebag chose to stay out of his life.  He has kind of clung to me in the process in ways that he hadn't before.  We've bonded in a different way.  He was apprehensive about this stay.  He saw his father not only leave him and his 2 brothers but his unborn sister too.  I can tell him that it'll be okay til I'm blue but actions have spoken much louder than words.  He's not ever been away from me for more than a day or 2 since he was born.  That's 8 years of togetherness.  His lifetime.  He and I have kept in touch through texting and calls.  I got to see him yesterday for a few minutes at his therapy session.  He looked down, withdrawn and sad.  I wanted to hold him and run out the door to take him home.

Around 7:30 last night I got a text from him asking if he can come home.  I explained that this was his time with Daddy and that he would be back in my arms in no time.  I tried to tell him that this time apart was going to fly by and that he'll have fun, Daddy loves him and will take good care of him.  In my mind I saw him standing there, in that hallway outside of his therapists door - with that sullen look on his face and the tears welling up in those precious brown eyes.  I started to cry.  He couldn't hear me or see me.  But I felt for him.  His fear, his anxiety - that hopeless feeling of wanting so badly to go home.  For a minute I was in his heart - confused and scared.  Several minutes went by and my phone emitted the "I like turtles" alert letting me know that I had an incoming text again.  I looked down and next to his name and picture of his beautiful smile taken during a much happier moment and saw the painful pleading of a little boy who wanted his mommy -

"Plese"