It was meant to be a quick trip this afternoon... an email arrived notifying of a book on hold that I'd been anxiously awaiting... and we started the "witching hour" by bundling up in jackets and heading to the library.
Little did I know that the grounds of the library could keep us busy for upwards of half an hour. It's the unexpected adventures that are the most memorable. The ones that happen organically, that reach out and grab us so tightly that we cannot let go.
These are days that we're not rushing. Time is our friend. We build in extra moments for tantrums and struggles, but more often than not they end up being moments of wonder and bliss.
The days shorten, the moments lengthen, and I breathe in my children and their smiles and jumps and flights that take off from rocks exclaiming "To infinity, and beyond!!" and end in piles of haphazardly kicked about leaves.
I try to be as close to silent in these moments as I can... and when I am... I hear them. I hear them share of themselves and their knowledge. Their stories. Their dreams. Their jokes. All of them.
And then there's a hush and they look up and smile and I know that somehow, this mothering thing is working out for me. And this childhood thing is working out for them. And we're alright.
