A pile of gratitude

I work with a magical three year old named “Amari”. On beautiful days we take walks and I teach her how to say all the captivating things she sees. Fire hydrant! Sticks! Flagpole!

While I tend to power along the sidewalk, Amari prefers to pause here and there to take in something special like a dog’s water dish or a forgotten bicycle.

The other day she spotted a huge pile of raked leaves waiting by the side of a quiet neighborhood street. With glee she looked at the pile then at me and raised her arms up high in hopes I would pick her up and throw her in. I tossed her in at the count of three then joined her crashing into a crunchy soft bed of orange and brown.

Shortly after our landing, I was eager to get up and get going but she had other plans. Following her gaze, I looked up above the street and houses to the almost bare Sycamore tree standing regally above our heads. The strong branches held lightly the last leaves of autumn made even more stunning by the blue sky.

I started driving down this street fourteen years ago and this was the very first time I looked up. Amari did not need any words to introduce me to the beauty of the white and gray dappled tree bark against the radiant sky. All she had to do was teach by example; jump in fully, take your time and look up.

Joy for keeps

When I was a kid we had pretend cameras made of wood with a fake external flash cube that rotated around with each picture. In the tiny viewing glass it didn’t matter what you were aiming at, the images rotated through cartoon like pastoral scenes. The subject on the other side of the camera could strike any pose they wished without ever having a witness.

Tonight at my sister’s east coast wedding party, my preschool son snuck off with my phone and began taking shots of all our beloved family friends milling about my parents’ backyard.

Apparently, posing for a three foot tall photographer comes with its own rules. These ordinarily contained people stuck out their tongues at odd angles and scrunched up their noses in ways I did not know to be humanly possible.

For a millisecond, the partygoers became their four-year-old selves.My son captured these tiny moments of joy for keeps.

I am a grateful witness.

Kids and God

My four year old hopped up on my lap as I was previewing a documentary on autism for a graduate course I am teaching in the fall. The conversation went something like this:

Daughter: “What’s this about?”

Me: “Oh, it is a movie about autism.”
Daughter: “Great, I’ll watch the baptism movie with you. I know all about kids and God.”

Me: “This is about autism, not baptism.”

Daughter: “Yeah, I know. Kids and God.”

Me: Hmmm, O.K.”

Perhaps autism really is just about people and understanding the unknown. At this moment, I am pretty certain my preschooler can teach this course in my stead.

Leaning Forward

Even though there were no sudden spills or urgent cries I found myself launched forward like a ski jumper, racing a round the house trying to prepare for the next event of the day. Then I realized I was not in a hurry. Slamming on my breaks I forced myself to stop and stand up straight, take a deep breath and remember while life can be busy, it does not always have to be executed at break neck speed. There are moments where it is critical to lean back and relax.

Three year old exuberance

Last night, our picky three year old proclaimed that she would like to eat my wife’s new dinner recipe “every night until the world ends and we all die.” While the statement is perhaps a tad extreme, the sentiment is exuberayting. To love something so much as to desire it until the end, is a feeling that only comes around once in a great while.

How can we cherish exuberance in all it’s forms?

Happily impractical

The most practical thing to do tonight would have been to put all the kids down at their regular bedtime in order to insure the most amount of sleep and avoid unnecessary moodiness come morning. However, our three and a half year old, Simka, has music in her bones. The outdoor concert and swing dance was calling for her and I had to respond, practical or not.

I am writing this post after the concert and not after, “the day after” the concert however, I am pretty certain we made the right move. Simka was a vision in orange as she swirled and twirled to the rhythm of “that funny band with the piano playing OUTSIDE!” She made friends with big kids, rehashed “Frozen” with concert volunteers and gasped at the sunset as we headed home. Sometimes the impractical is the obvious choice.

When have you been happily impractical?