Time. It's the one thing that I seem to always be in need of. And it's how he feels the most loved. My Graeme-bear just turned four. At his birthday party, as we all stood around singing to him, I saw it in his eyes for the first time, and it's something I'll remember with my heart for a very long time-- he knew we were celebrating, and best of all, he knew we were celebrating him. He's always been my little one that can communicate exactly what he's feeling and thinking, even sometimes rewording his sentences until he's said it exactly right. I am so grateful for this. Because, when it comes to loving him, I want him to be able to tell me what it is that makes him feel my love the most.
Reading is our thing. I've known it since he was just a tiny little fella. But what started as just a little Dr. Seuss here and some Sally Lloyd-Jones there, has turned into an entire world of heart mending and love building. When the days are easy and we're happy together, we read. When the days are difficult and we're upset with each other, we read. And when I asked him, a couple of months ago, 'sweet pea, what do I do that makes you feel that I love you?', I wasn't surprised when his answer came-- 'when you read to me'. His words brought a smile and a heart-cry all at once. Because, as I recently read somewhere, my relationships to my children now are somewhat a snapshot of those in the future. That stops me in my tracks. That makes me say to my tired self in the morning-- get dressed, get them dressed, get outside, and enjoy this life with them. It talks to me again in the afternoon, when Jobie is all curled up and napping soundly-- spend time with Graeme, read, make cookies, do a craft. This time is a vapor.
This morning, we went for a walk. We found a pear tree that we had never discovered before. Graeme brought along his harmonica and played for me, asking to see the pictures afterwards. Noticing red hands and runny noses, we made our way back into the house to sit by the fire and thaw out a bit. And at lunch, Steve and I commented to each other about getting lessons for him with a new, harmonica-playing friend of ours. This afternoon, when Graeme gets back from tagging along on a visit with his daddy, to an elderly lady in our church, we'll read.
Today was easy and, by our human standard, good. But it isn't always that. Last night, as my husband and I sat at the table finishing up dinner, the boys downstairs loudly clanging and chattering (read: yelling and screaming), we looked at each other and said, 'are we going to make it?' And later, after we had tucked them into their beds, and climbed back up the stairs to enjoy the quiet of the evening, my husband's reply came, 'we always do'. Yes, because of His unending mercies and graces, we always, always do.
The Harmonica from Sarah Kate Branine on Vimeo.
p.s. I'm taking a short break from this space for the rest of this week. I hope to see you next week with some snippets of Job's second birthday along with a wonderful giveaway with Minnetonka. Thanks for reading here.