The Boy

It occurs to me that I've been waxing sentimental about Lola Bean lately and may have given the impression that Finn is a second class citizen around here.

Well, in case anybody has that impression let me just put it to rest.

There are two precious little beating hearts at the center of my universe and one of them belongs to this boy.

What could I possibly say about him that would be enough to convey how utterly, completely and totally I adore him?

I can tell you that when he came to me I was fresh off a 'divorce' and utterly lost.

I would like to say that one look from him healed me and transformed my grief into happiness but that would be a lie.  The fact of the matter is that I was in love with Finn and also in love with a guy who didn't love me.  And when the man you love looks at you and tells you he doesn't love you and doesn't want you, it is devastating.  And it took a long time for me to get over it.  Longer than I wanted it to but it was what it was. 

But Finn came.  In February.  The worst month.

And what he gave me, what we made, was a family, when I desperately needed to build one.

I didn't know what I was doing and I walked in circles for a long, long time.  And he was with me.  He was the reason I got out of bed.  He was my baby.  He needed me.  It was him and me.  We were us.  And even after Lola came, even after all this time, sometimes I still look at him and say "Remember when it was just us?"

He is the first face I see in the morning, when I lean off the bed so he can lick both my ears (one is not enough).   Every day when I come home at lunch I have to roust him from his upstairs in the air conditioning nap.  And he is the first one to greet me when I come home from work - he hurls his little fat self up up up with his little short legs outstretched.  So my ears can get kissed again.

He is, in the words of a past acquaintance "needy".  He is spoiled.  He is stubborn.  He is contentious and sometimes cranky.  He was an incorrigible puppy and had to go to puppy school.  He cried at least three times a night for the first 6 months of his life.  He hated his crate and had to be chased nightly to get in it.  He ate every shoe in the house.  He once ran across the room, launched himself into my lap and buried his face in my wine glass before I even knew what happened.  He was half lit before it was over.

He has a weight problem and hates all forms of exercise except swimming and used to regularly avail himself of the fountain at Talbot's in South Park, where he would take a leisurely dip before towel drying himself on the Talbot's welcome mat.   If I can get him to walk a loop around the neighborhood a couple of times a week in this heat, I call it a great accomplishment.  He trudges along, 10 feet behind me, tongue hanging out.  Utterly bitter and offering up just enough cooperation for me not to threaten to kill him.  Nonetheless, he gets at least one nose-to-snoot talking to on just about every walk.  I think after all these years he takes my threats of death and stick beatings with a certain amount of eye-rolling "whatever, mom". 

He is ridiculously beautiful and he knows it.  People have chased me down the street to meet him.  They have run out of banks and restaurants.  A city bus once stopped to say hello to Finn.

He is well adjusted and happy.  He tells me what he wants and isn't shy about it.  Lola is mysterious.  Finn is, well, Finn is a guy.  If he's hungry he tells me.  If his belly needs to be scratched he rolls over and presents it like a birthday present.  If he wants to go out he says so.  I don't have to guess with Finn.  I don't have to beg him for his affection, which he dishes out freely to me and anybody else who will have him.  

He is my Butterbean.  He is my darling love.   And along with Lola, we are a family.  Whole and complete.