I took a moment today to put down the broom and sit with you on the floor to read a book. Normally, while your brothers are quiet after lunch I take a moment to sweep and put dishes away; today I took a moment and I sat with you right there on the crumb filled floor.
In between the turns of the chunky pages I touched my nose to your bald head and breathed in what is still lingering of your baby smell.
The plates and crumbs waited as your brothers played quietly and I chose to sit with you another moment, for another breath and another book.
After you went down for your nap I took a moment to observe your biggest brother’s praying mantis and listened to him rattle off everything he knows about bugs. He looks taller standing there now but when he crouches over the patio table to view his favorite bug I get caught up in how quickly his legs have become as long as the table is tall.
I took a moment to leave the wrinkle free shirts in the dryer and line up cars with your middle brother. When you really listen to him talk about his cars you can hear the depth of his imagination and the song of his heart.
I made sure I had a moment today to push your youngest brother on the swing but then I decided to sit on the swing and fold him up in my lap. It was just a moment because it wasn’t long before you were trying to taste fall foliage by shoving baby handfuls into your mouth.
But a moment was all it took to experience this blink of an eye called motherhood in technicolor. To feel it, hear it, smell it.
I’ve been thinking about the moments I had with my mom, your grandma. I remember her reading to me, joking with me and folding me up in her lap.
Our house was always clean and things were put away but my mother remembered to stop and take in the moments. She knew it was important to stop and experience motherhood in technicolor.
I remember the technicolor moments with her. Not the half listening, half sweeping, half uploading moments.
I remember in technicolor the moments she took to breath every moment of me in… like it might be her last.
There is never a guarantee we will get all the moments we wish we could have had. Suddenly those moments can vanish and in the blink of an eye in this phase of motherhood…with you tucked in my lap…the moments will be over.
This is a journey of letting go. Little by little and moment by moment one of us will have to let go sooner than we had hoped. We belong not to one another but to One calling us to something greater.
So while we have one another here in this kitchen I promise to try to remember to live these moments of motherhood in technicolor. To stop sweeping through my task to read you a book and breathe you in on this journey of letting go.
“LORD, make me to know my end And what is the extent of my days; Let me know how transient I am.”