Secrets

I hate secrets. I don't like keeping them and even more, I don't like telling them. It's too much pressure, having a secret, and I've always been one of those people who wants wants wants to tell. That said, I'm a good secret keeper. When I need to be. Sometimes that's unfortunate. 

My kids have each gone through this phase now. The phase which tiny heathen is just now entering, at five, where the best thing in the world to them is whispering in my ear. The secret is often entirely pointless (as above), and usually boils down to 'I love you' (not as above... I don't think). There's something kind of nice about the way they figure it out. How to tell a secret. They push their faces too close to your ear, sometimes right up against it, and whisper a little too loud. At times you can't even understand what they're saying. 

When I tell them a secret (usually 'I love you'), they think it is the best thing in the world to tell. 'MOM LOVES ME', with a sideways giggly glance at me, expecting my overly dramatic reaction. 'NOOOOOOOO!' 

They like getting presents for each other. And I see it then. The desire to tell. Sometimes they will tell by saying the opposite, a trick I find particularly clever. 'Hey, I didn't get you a skateboard!'. Sometimes just hoping to get caught so they can tell all. 'I'll give you a hint. It's shaped like a Barbie.' And still other times flat out telling the other, but in whispery tones. 'I got you a car.' 

I get all sentimental sometimes, thinking about how the days are slipping away and with them, the light secrets of childhood will gain weight, becoming heavier and more important to hide. I wonder if I will have taught them enough about what secrets are okay to keep and which ones desperately need to be told. 

Someday they'll keep secrets of engagement rings or pregnancies, surprise parties or shameful thoughts. I hope they will know that their secrets are safe with me. I hope I show them that every time I solemnly nod at 'Caribbean french fries'.