The Magic is Already Here

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In the hubbub of the holiday season, let us not forget that life doesn’t have to be lived in grand gestures for our kids to be happy. The magic is already here.

It’s not in the expensive vacations we think they want.

It’s not in the hours spent shopping to create some sort of magic we think piles of presents under the tree could ever possibly create.

It’s not in the rushing and running and over scheduling because we think we must do it all.

It’s not in the questioning we do of ourselves, wondering if we are possibly doing enough to make Christmas special.

Instead, it’s in the smile of the little girl in the freshly fallen snow.

It’s in the way your son leaves his friends to come hold your hand while Christmas caroling.

It’s in a friend texting you because she had a bad day and you text back and say “I understand this. I’m here for you.”

It’s in the giggle of the children as their mom gets on a sled and rides in the snow with them. It’s them seeing her as a kid, for just a minute.

It’s in the homemade fudge made from your husband’s family recipe and it’s in the cookies made all day with a good group of friends.

It’s in the smiles as kids laugh and play and are content with what they have. They see the magic after all.

It’s in the glow of the candles as we look at the baby in the manger.

The magic is here. We don’t need to chase it.

Thanks for Mothering the Divide with me as Christmas approaches. Let us remember that the magic is here. This reminder is as much for me as for you. The magic is here and all we need to do is to open our eyes to it.

Like the Trees, They Grow

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You can hardly see my son there, but there he is, in the trees we planted before he was born.  And I stood in amazement at how high the trees have grown and how big he’s gotten since the last time we stood there.

Today, my son and I visited the backyard of the house we brought him home from the hospital to.  It wasn’t our intention, really, to stop there, but maybe it was someone else’s because we ended up there. Even though we moved from this house four years ago, my son remembers it.

My husband laid the slate patio; he planted the trees.  My son played in his water table here and found frogs and made little houses for them in the leaves here.  He ran from this patio as a toddler and I remember sighing in frustration.  Together, we weeded and roasted marshmallows in an open fire.  We all have memories here but for me, most of mine are about my son, just a toddler when we left.

It’s fitting that we were here today because tomorrow, we make settlement on our new house–my son’s third home.  Maybe he needed to come back to where he started in order to move on to the next thing?  Or maybe I did?

When we left this home, I remember walking from room to room and calling his name.  I had heard from a friend that when you have small children, you should do that so that their souls follow you.  I did it in this home, all by myself, with tears streaming down my face.   My husband thought I was silly and told me that we weren’t leaving our son there; he was going with us, after all.  But in a way, my son’s babyhood was left here in this house and on this patio, shaded by these trees.  And his soul remembers. Continue Reading

His Last Jump

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I may have caught his last jump on camera.

For years, he’s loved this jump house and all others he’s encountered.  He jumped, happily, every time we got this one out of the garage or found one at a fair or arcade.

But today, he jumped for about two minutes with his sister before he came out and told me, quite matter of factly, that he just doesn’t like it anymore and that he’s too big.

His little sister, now two, called for him to come in and jump with her, but he told her that he’s just too old to jump.  No one told him that; he just decided on his own.

It’s a small thing, really, and one of many things that signify that my son, once a boy I could easily carry, is growing older.  He’s too heavy for me to lift now; he’s getting his adult teeth; his hair is getting darker; his hands are taking the shape of a boy, no longer a baby. Continue Reading

Mama, Jump

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“Mommy, jump, too!” she said as she pulled my hand.

It was rainy for a while today, and forced to retreat inside for a bit, my daughter found a piece of bubble wrap from a freshly delivered package. Always one to make her own fun, she began to jump on it as I laughed.

I sat and watched her for a few minutes before she reached down and grabbed my hand and said “Mommy, jump, too!”  And so I did and we danced and jumped and it was a perfect three minutes of my day.

In life with a very busy and often trying toddler, these moments really make me stop and remember that this is the little girl who makes me laugh and whose sense of adventure–even so very young–pushed me further on my own journey. Continue Reading