Friday, September 21, 2007

Oblivious mom

On an evening walk around the park yesterday, Will spotted a black dog walking in the opposite direction with its owner. I was talking to Rob and didn’t even notice the dog.

“Mom, did you see that black dog? Did you see that dog, mommy and daddy?” Will asked.
I admitted I hadn’t. Sometimes I start talking or thinking about something, and I’m oblivious to what’s going on around me, I explained to Will.

“Oblivious pretty much describes your mom, Will,” Rob half-joked.

Will was interested in this new word oblivious. So I gave him a few examples of ways you might become oblivious and fail to notice someone or something.

Today, there must have been five or six different moments when Will was trying to get my attention (he wants to show me things and tell me things all day long these days) and I didn’t respond immediately.

“Mom, you’re oblivious,” he’d say.

And every time he was right. Caught with my head in the clouds again.

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