It was a sunset rainbow. Cast in pinks and blues and stretching shyly above an outdoor stage of toe-tapping ballerinas and a black fringe of forest beyond. Little Friend considered the small miracle and pronounced: “That’s not a rainbow. Rainbows aren’t pink and purple.” Exactly, Little Friend, exactly. She went back to her jerky attempts to mimic the arabesques and jetes being presented with professional flourish on stage at Ballet Under the Stars. We couldn’t decide which to photograph first: the miracle rainbow or our miracle dancer.
This weekend gave us unexpected cousin time as my brother-in-law recuperated in the hospital after a nasty car crash. While he and my sister learned more than they ever care to know about collarbones and ankle bones and liquid diets, Little Friend and Little One logged hours on the swings with Itty Bitty and Buddy. They ate ice cream until their stomachs revolted. They cuddled under quilts to fall asleep watching Winnie the Pooh and the Thousand Acre Wood friends. They giggled their way through butterflies, lizards, alligators, dinosaurs and snakes at Reptileland. They healed the adult worries of health, safety, and life with the uniquely child-like process of living in the moment and enjoying one another’s love.
I wore jeans last week in an unseasonable cold snap in August. I expected to feel Fall’s icy fingers grazing my skin, but instead the mornings smelled of Spring–fresh, clean, and hopeful.
Back to School is a tough season for teachers like me who are not going back to the classroom. I’m an adrenaline junkie for the rush that comes on those first days of school–the whirlwind momentum and new faces and the sharing of the volatile treasure of learning. Each Back to School season that I don’t go back, I curl in on myself a bit as though protecting a vital organ from injury. I wave bravely as friends, former co-workers, and now even Little Friend move forward into the school year, while I hang back and wait, the last person to be chosen for the team.
Little Friend is into marrying. She has decided that Little One loves our next-door-neighbor so much that “She’s going to marry Mr. Brian some day!” Little Friend collects mangled bouquets for throwing. She concocts cakes make from fruit salad. She asks for her cousin’s hand in marriage. I will not be the one to pop this bubble of innocence.
Little One exhausts me. I catch myself taking actual deep breaths of relief each time I lay her down in her crib. This child’s combination of intensity, perseverance, curiosity, and independence is a tsunami. I am washed away each and every day.
This post has enough encouragement to get a new mom through a week’s worth of trials.
My favorite pin for the week: Cleaning Your House in Four Hours
My favorite Instagram for the week