P*l*ay Dirt

I can't believe I'm saying it, but what a treat it is to watch him discover the pleasures of dirty work.

 

Afterbath

During her initial decline and in the immediate wake of her diagnosis, it was hard to find good.  And even still on days when it feels like we're tiptoeing along a blurry edge between life and death, it's easy to find ourselves lost in the land of the impossible.  Those are the days I can't do anything without feeling the prickling hot behind my eyes.
But there are times when the clouds part and the glory of heaven escapes and lands here.  Times like when I swaddle my daughter after a bath, a mercy of mundane living.  Of living.  I feel a heightened sense of gratitude in the simple routine, in the drying and the detangling and the dressing, each part of a fresh joy.

Times when, even if it seems like a rare phenomenon, I know we most certainly haven't been passed over by an absent grace.  When I realize that she is here at all makes me one of the luckiest mothers who have ever drawn breath.
JEB

Holding

We’ve held hands before, when he’s needed help managing a big step, or when we’ve traversed a parking lot, but he’s not usually the one to initiate holding.  A few days ago, as Andy pushed him in the stroller, Tuck offered his chubby, tanned fist to me and asked, “Hand?”  He held his arm out, finger tips extended as though they were antennae through which love entered and exited his body, and he slipped his hand into mine, squeezing tight.  I hope the emotional pull of that small gesture is never diminished.

Click on people's faces in the photo to tag them.

JEB

Grow Up

In the limp summer haze, he was a baby. When the golden rays tinged his complexion a dark hue, he seemed small.  Was it a trick of sunlight, or a trick of time?
This morning he went to school* a bright, polished boy, shining with cheer before even the sun was up.  Bouncing excitedly on his toes, his pink cheeks puffed into a grin so wide it looked to span the entire classroom.
The enrollment form asked what makes him unique, what makes him special.  I found it hard to stake the entirety of his persona on one thing.  In an instant he leaves me both exasperated and impressed.  His ingenuity, his enthusiasm, his perseverance, his energy, his tenderness, what isn't special?  Superlatives don't feel nearly super enough.

Many children are curious, but it flames in him, in his eyes, in the restless way they're often looking at the one place he cannot see.  Toddlers are at once sponges and parrots, but he is shockingly articulate, endearingly bright.  Maybe every parent's offspring does the same, but he steers my thoughts in the direction I need them to go.  The world is his oyster, and he makes it impossible not to be grabbed by the promise of another day. 

To his teachers, I say He is special, he is unique. You will see.
To him, I plead Grow up, small boy, grow up.  You will never outgrow my heart.

JEB
*school is used loosely, meaning Tuck is giving a once-a-week-for-two-hours Parent's Day Out program a shot 
And also, BSG, thank you for helping me think.

Juxtapose

The subject of my sorrow, she delivers a simultaneously hefty portion of my joy, a beautiful excuse not to cry.
JEB

Tea Time

JEB

Summer House

In the summer, when the sun is shining, we blow through our home like the wind of another season.  Things are prioritized differently on blazing days and, even when we're summering through the confines of a terminal disease and a napping toddler, our days are full.  And so our house is a mess.
We pass through for meals, sometimes, moving the pancake plates out of the way for dinner.  We breeze by to change clothes, to repack purses and bags, to grab towels and suits or to throw on a skirt.  Our days fill with walks to the farmers market and bridal showers, ice cream with friends and splashes at the park, watching bears at the zoo and looking for bugs in the backyard.  We visit the house just long enough for a flurry of things to happen, but not long enough for any of it to be recovered.  We spend time at home when the moon hushes our happenings to sleep, often resting in sheets that have long ago been laundered.  On gloomy days we tend to want to remember what it feels like to sit on our couch rather than tidy late night sewing projects or sort piles of mail.  Wasting time in a way that's too enjoyable to consider wasted, we neglect some things so that others can be savored.

The air is crisp and requiring our attention are taco truck tours and tailgating parties, weekend weddings and tiny tot tumbling, apple orchards and pumpkin patches.  Sidewalk chalk on the path and shopping bags on the dining table can wait, because right now there's only extra time for things like laughter in the bathtub and hugs in the hammock.  At this point, I'm afraid the house isn't going to be picked up before it falls. 
JEB