Sunday, March 31, 2013

Easter 2013

It is 11:30 a.m. on Easter Sunday.

I am in a rocking chair in a dim room, rocking my boy to sleep for his nap.

He doesn't cry or scream.  At around this time every day, I carry him upstairs and sing and rock him to sleep.  He never puts up a fuss.  He knows when it's nap time.

He is especially sleepy today, as he's had a morning-full of Easter fun already.  He's eaten untold-amounts of jelly beans, a malted milk ball or two, and unwrapped probably a dozen chocolate bunnies.  (Didn't eat them.  Just unwrapped.  Must've changed his mind.)

He's played swords with Devin, and gone out on the front porch (because it is raining) to play with his brand new battery-powered bubble blower.  (Those things are AWESOME!!!  Best five bucks I've ever spent.)

And he's even had a bath already, though he was QUITE displeased about having to share the space with Devin.  (Devin likes to lay down in the tub, thus confining Nolan to a teeny corner.  He doesn't care for it.  Not at all.)

He's sleepy, so I don't sing today.

We just sit and rock.

And that is all we do.

We listen to the fake ocean sounds on his white noise machine.  We listen as the fake tide ebbs and flows.

And we rock back and forth.

. . . And I don't play with my phone.  I don't text people, and I don't play any games.

I don't make a running list of any groceries we're out of at the moment.  I am not mentally wandering around Publix, reminding myself to get tortillas.

I am not mentally preparing for, or planning any events in the future (though I could CERTAINLY put some planning time to good use).

I am just sitting there, rocking my boy.

(And maybe humming a little.)

And patting his back from time to time, usually in rhythm to whatever song I'm singing in my head.

And, though it would be easy to do, I do not let my mind wander to some undetermined time in the future, when my boy will be too big to sleep in my lap, and those curls might be gone, and I won't be needed to sing him to sleep. 

I do not think of those things.

Instead, I focus on what is happening right now.

I kiss the top of his head, and feel his warm cheek.  I look at his face, and I marvel at the sweetness of it.  I think of his temper tantrums just earlier today, and think how precious and dear he is, and also how prone to slap (if you are annoying him).  I marvel at the weight of him in my lap, and think about how much he's grown since he was the fat little peanut we brought home a lifetime ago.

I treasure his smell, I hold him close, and I rock us back and forth.

And I am thankful for so very many things that I don't even have the words to name them all.

But right now, in this room with blue walls and Winnie the Pooh and a false ocean roaring, I find that more than anything, I am just so grateful for this exact moment.

I am grateful because I was actually HERE for it.

I held it in my hand, and looked at it, and SAW it.

(. . .which is a difficult thing to do sometimes.)

And things aren't perfect.  Nothing is ever perfect. 

But I am learning that it doesn't HAVE to be ---doesn't even have to be close --- for me to appreciate it, and actually BE THERE for it.

And sometimes. . .

Sometimes I am so filled up with gratitude that I feel that I could burst from it.

. . .

And these are my thoughts this Easter.


Cadbury Eggs.

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