I watch them now, how they run from one end of the house to the other and I really do want to keep them here, in this space and time. I had this crazy thought, when my heart was bursting for the right now of them. I wanted to scoop them up and put them in a glass jar that’s just the right size to hold them, to screw on the tin cover, just to watch them, to keep them this way. Like lightening bugs. But of course that can’t be, they are not boys meant for bubbles or jars, they are my little people, and they’re here, free. So free it hurts.
When I try to break free of the inevitable, to fight reality, to stop growth, trapping, controlling, even with the best of intentions, it suffocates. And yet, one part of my mothering heart wants to do it anyway, The Great Protector! But I know it would hurt them too much, bouncing against the rounded glass walls, their little lights going out.
So I think of them as older than now, five years, ten years and more and I wonder what we’ll all look like and feel like and how we’ll be different. I imagine what they will love to do and I believe in their potential, that they’re going to be okay. They’ll grow taller and I’ll grow shorter. What a strange idea. Me, with so many lines on my face and gray hair. But I can do no trapping of my own life’s time either, no halting of my growth. Not by growing complacent or stalling out, not by nipping and tucking and injecting, zapping out my light and the ache of years of wisdom written over me. The perseverance and the fine lines and wrinkles, the curved back and the silver hair, they are all simply signs of wisdom, and to wish that away would make about as much sense as trying to stop the growth of my boys with a glass jar.
The things most out of our control, like what an everyday day holds or does not hold, or like growing up and growing old, they are the very most beautiful things. These inevitables, they are a spinning breeze with the tallest and greenest grass and softest moonlight, so we can flicker and glow, free.
{ 18 comments }
You are an awesome mom. That is all.
love.
my wrinkles not so much though.
Coming back to the reason why you titled the blog is always great to gain perspective in how far you've come blogging. And such a statement of truth – it is in the ordinary that we find the extraordinary. In some ways, I am still fully realizing this as a new concept in my life with my daughter, and I thank you for your words. In my blog, Road to Bliss, for our company Baby in Bliss, I started out highlighting the extraordinary in our everyday lives, and it has taken on a life of its own now. In fact, almost to the point that I may reconceptualize my byline to encompass more of its true soul. Again, thank you for your words and your blog. I read it daily.
YES. To all of this. YES.
So beautifully written, Heather.
-xo
-Ellie
This is gorgeous. Just gorgeous.
beautiful and perfect! I love it! Thank you :)
Yes! Amen!!
This is beautiful.
This is so beautiful. And eloquent. And spot on. And heartbreaking and tearjerking all at the same time. I love the right-nowness of it all, too. And you captured it. Perfectly.
And it happens so slowly, right before your eyes. If I could trap my kids, it'd be at age 4. Lovely age, really lovely. Teens, not so much.
Yes, of course, exactly, as always.
You write (so very beautifully) what's in my heart. I'm holding on tight to these ordinary days.
Flicker and glow. Yes, I see it. Every day, in my children and my relationships. In the mirror when I look with gentle eyes.
love love love and me too. This growing up is heartbreaking and lovely. I want my daughter to stay the same and never leave me, but that would be horrible too. Life. what a life.
Oh so beautiful and true. Sometimes I find myself wanting to trap them right here and now, and sometimes I find myself wishing for future days – in either case – I shake myself and say no – you can't hold them here or push them there, but it's hard :)
So enjoy reading your blog…such insight…such love…thank you for sharing….
Just beautiful Heather. I agree, there is so much beauty in the sameness of the each day. I'm always amazed when out of no where my son seems to be changing and growing, only to look back and realize that I witnessed the change all along, it was just hidden in the everyday.
Just beautiful Heather. I agree, there is so much beauty in the sameness of the each day. I'm always amazed when out of no where my son seems to be changing and growing, only to look back and realize that I witnessed the change all along, it was just hidden in the everyday.
Just beautiful Heather. I agree, there is so much beauty in the sameness of the each day. I'm always amazed when out of no where my son seems to be changing and growing, only to look back and realize that I witnessed the change all along, it was just hidden in the everyday.
As you know, we sent our oldest son to college last month, and I had this exact same feeling: Give me a glass jar. Put the lid on. Preserve him, just as he is. I thought about all the experiences he could have, good and bad; I know of all the rampant influences screaming for his attention; he could (and would) make mistakes; there could (and would) be pain involved. I wanted to keep him safe. But I know he needs to be free. There are some things he can't learn any other way.
But then I had this amazing thought–I wonder if this is how God feels when he sends us down to earth…to this beautiful, dangerous planet where outside influences could destroy us, and only a still small voice can keep us safe. And where there will be pain and suffering and children and joy and a whole roller-coaster ride if experience, and he wants us to have it all, so we can learn and grow in ways we never thought possible.
I can only imagine His heart as he sends us here–free–and yearns for us to stay close, and hopes for is to return.
I love the way you can lasso bits of truth and make them shine for us.
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