I hesitate, eyeballing the listing fence, the height of the roof. I’m already in my pajamas.
“I don’t know, honey. I’m not much of a climber anymore.” I place one turquoise flip flop on the wooden rail, press into it. The fence lurches, peeling paint raining like confetti onto the cement. “Hold on a second,” I say to Noah, “I’ll be right back.”
I drag the rickety step ladder from the garage and position it as close to the shed as I can. It wobbles on the uneven pavement. Noah peers over the edge of the roof on his knees, one palm on the top of the ladder.
“I’ve got it, Mommy,” he says. “I’m holding it steady.”
I’m almost to the top. On the highest rung I pause, gripping the side of the ladder with one white-knuckled hand as I push my sunglasses up over my hair with the other. I place one knee on the scratchy shingles, my other flip flop foot still on the ladder, my body spanning the cement. “You can do it; you’re almost here,” Noah encourages. And then in one groaning, awkward lunge, I pull myself onto the roof.
It feels higher than it actually is. We are, after all, only about seven feet off the ground. But it’s a whole new perspective on the neighborhood. We sit with our knees pulled to our chests and watch, quiet.
Across the alley, Marian brushes Archie, clumps of white fur blowing onto the golf course like milkweed fluff. Partially camouflaged behind the elm tree leaves, the golfers don’t spot us either, clubs clinking as they lumber into the hot haze. Next door Gary sweeps the patio, the rhythmic swish of the broom like a snare drum brushing the still air.
Noah gives me a tour of the roof. His favorite area is under the overhang, where the lichen patterns the speckled shingles like a Rorschach blot. He tells me the brittle grey greens up after a rain. “It’s always living,” he says nodding, eyes solemn, “even when it looks dead.”
I vow to return to the roof again. We’ll bring our books, I tell Noah. And maybe a blanket. We’ll come up here in our pjs with snacks after Rowan goes to bed. It will be our Mommy-Noah time.
I have big plans for that shed roof.
I spot Noah on his rooftop perch from time to time over the summer. Sometimes he calls me to come up, and I always answer the same, “I will…in a minute. When I’m done watering the garden.” Or folding laundry. Or loading the dishwasher. Or putting away the groceries.
Summer passes in a flash. The boys are back in school. There’s homework to do, choir rehearsal, soccer practice, lunches to pack.
And I wonder, as I water the basil in the evening sun, if the lichen on the roof is green or grey.
Do you {or did you as a kid} have a secret spot?
{and yeah, for the record, I did climb down the ladder to get my camera and back up again to take these pictures!}
Welcome to Graceful Summer, a link-up community here on Fridays through the end of August. We’re sharing stories about the smaller, quieter moments of summer – will you share yours, too?
My grandmother's house was full of secret spots my cousins and I used to find. I never invited my mom, though. Your Noah is precious!
I love that you didn't yell at him to GET OFF THE ROOF. That's what happened around here. Now he's too big to get up there (except to hang my Christmas lights, for which I pay him).
Oh, Michelle! For some reason, this post just undid me this morning. It all passes too quickly–summer, childhood. God bless your dear Noah and the way he sees.
Beautiful writing describing your Noah spot. We had a bit of a wooded area in my childhood home. Some owners before us nailed a board between two trees as a seat. That was my spot. I read many books there with my back against the tree and my legs stretched out. Thank you for reminding me of that memory.
Oh Michelle—you have taken me back to my childhood maple tree, where I sat and read. Where I imagined I had a dog named 'Lassie'. Where I lived on my grandfather's farm in summer and had adventures with my faithful collie dog! Where I was 'Heidi' in the Alps. Where I had a fiery horse named 'Black Beauty'. Thank you for this!
Yes, bless your sweet Noah for inviting you to his secret place. For giving you a 'different perspective'. Not many would do that. He is precious! I remember reading a little saying, years ago. It went something like this…”Dust and laundry can wait 'til tomorrow…I'm rocking my baby now.” It has always stuck with me, even to today, as a mother of a 33 and 26-year-old. These, YOUR days, are precious—grab hold! Carpe Diam! Seize the day.
Lovely!!!!
My spot was also a roof. I'd climb out the upstairs bathroom window onto the back porch roof, around the corner to the addition and read for hours surrounded by lilac trees and maple branches. To this day I don't know if my parents ever knew, but it was my sanctuary.
It touches me, the way he invited you up there. And I definitely would've climbed down to get my camera. So glad you did. Love these Friday posts of yours.
You are such a cool mommy! wow
I love that he invited you and you answered and that you got this new perspective. I used to hide behind the cabins or in the woods. And sometimes I stomped down big ferns and made a little fort. They seemed much taller back then.
My daughter spent a lot of time on our roof. I wish I'd gotten up there with her.
oh, this piece makes me happy. this quiet time with noah. the lichen… my favorite time of the whole summer, my older son sat with me on the beach, no other family and TALKED. i needed to use the bathroom, get supper going, check on the younger in the pool, but i think i would have sat with him through a hurricane….
I'm very sure he tucked that moment away in his heart. I'm so glad you made the decision to join him Michelle. We always think there will be time later….then turn around and they are grown and gone.
What a great story, Michelle. Sweet, poignant, real. Thank you.
What a nice and brave Mama you are to climb up on the roof with your child. He will always remember sharing that moment with Mom.
what a great memory you have created with your son…a great reminder that it is worth it to take the time to relish our children before they are gone like the summer wind…