Freeze

There are moments as a mother that I want to tear my hair out and moments that melt my heart and I feel like time freezes while I try to take the whole moment in.  This was a heart-melter for me.  

Whenever we enter our neighborhood, my kids always want to get out and walk the rest of the way.  Sometimes I let them.

I watched them holding hands, James without his shoes.  So little, but growing up so fast.  And I really did want to freeze the moment, pull it out some day with the smells, the feeling of my heart swollen in my chest, love for those little people--dimpled knees, soft "r"s, uninhibited hugs and sparkly eyes.  The best I could do was pull my phone out and take a picture.

Or two.

Enjoying the Simple Things

Doesn't take much to entertain these two.

"Moms and Dads can't cross this line.  Only kids."

Glimpses

Maybe I am the only mother out there who struggles sometimes to see the best in my child all the time.  I always love my children, but sometimes the whining (about just about everything), the demanding, the fighting and the selective listening blind me to who my child really "is."


From time-to-time, however, the inner greatness of each child is exposed through different experiences and I honestly find myself in awe of my children--who they are and what they can become.


So that is why I found myself in tears at Natalie's dance recital this year.

All I could see was the amazing person that she is.  Her absolute love for life.  Her ability to feel and experience things completely (yes, that does translate into drama here and there and everywhere).  She throws herself into most things and up on that stage I could just see "her," the real Natalie, the great, great Natalie with all her amazing capabilities and potential.

I thought about how sweet she is with Amelia, how helpful she already is to me, how she can identify what needs to be done and do it without being told, how passionate she is about just about everything, how she rides a scooter with a vengeance, and how she gives the best hugs and butterfly kisses.

And the nice thing is that "vision" has stayed with me.  Through the whining, and the crying, and the ignoring me.  I can still look at her and see the "real" her.

And then I pray extra hard that I can be a good mother to her.  That I can encourage, rather than discourage all that amazing goodness inside her.  That I can help her to learn to be kind to others, to be responsible, and to channel all that passion towards good things.

What a privilege to be her mom.  And what a responsibility.