checking the knots

One of the things about nurturing a child is that you're forever tethered to a surprise ending.

Tucker volunteered to accompany me to the grocery store this morning, pushing the cart and cheerfully gathering items on the list. We chatted about choosing cucumbers and the Scoville scale for peppers.

After we put away food we took a walk together, bundled up and heading along a path neither of us have taken before.
He told me about the fish prints they're making in art class, with octopus ink and paint.
He talked about spiders in Terraria and we found an icicle arrangement along the river bank that looked like a chandelier.

I listened all day, mindfully committed, impressively present. Tying one end of my time to his heart, checking the knots.

unconditional

I'll stop the world

and melt with you.

one out of two

On our way to church this morning, for the African drumming workshop, my goal was twofold:
1. Give the boys another example of the way human beings are linked, not ranked.
2. Let the boys be really loud somewhere else, so maybe they'd be a little less loud at home.

over achievement

I did not get very much done this week.

We've been working (for years) on being selectively busy, measuring our time by how much we enjoy the things we're doing instead of how many things we can fit in, trying to help the boys learn to focus on contentment over achievement. Or maybe they've been teaching us?

But sometimes I forget, get distracted by all the things I'm not doing and forget the things I've done.

Today I took a walk with a friend, and enjoyed the accompanying conversation despite the drizzle.
Today I helped craft a Valentine box, a pink pixelated pig.
Today I comforted a sick child, and cleaned up a few related messes.
Today I picked up new library books and later read a few Caldecotts snuggled on the couch.
Today I collected some groceries, primarily gingerale and saltines, but still.
Today I pretended with finger puppets and played zoo with plastic animals, gave bedtime back rubs and put away freshly laundered pajamas.

The boys do not worry much about what they've accomplished, about whether they're doing enough. They are professionals at calling attention to things that may not seem remarkable, at not being discouraged by things left undone, at making ta-da lists, if you will.
I'm trying to follow their lead.

on getting older

Parenting is not for the faint-hearted.
On his birthday, a rare day off to do nothing, Andy walked the neighborhood kids to school, navigating frozen sidewalks and falling downs. He scrubbed sick-kid mess from bathroom grout, folded laundry and called for a roof inspector to evaluate yet another leak.
He laughed about it all, shrugging off the invisible incline he'd been climbing, a true testament to his increduibly cheerful spirit, and to our luck in a having him around.
The boys and I did make him a birthday cake with bourbon glaze, so the day had some redeeming parts, just like getting older might too.

faint edges

The boys ended up home from school for five days, long enough for doing nothing to feel like an actual activity. They passed around a nasty but short-lived virus, yet remained mostly busy and mostly happy, switching sleeping arrangements, participating in a baseball clinic and playing in the snow once the temperature rose a bit. They watched several movies and part of the SuperBowl, baked Oreo truffles and bourbon cake, built a Lego marble run and readied letters to brighten a few mail boxes. They helped with chores and badgered Siri and embarked on epic laundry basket fishing expeditions. They also read approximately eighty seven books to Hank, and I let myself believe that I could see the faint edges of future friendships.