I have a tendency to write and not publish. I have this foolish idea that each post should include at least one picture. (Really, I think that’s what all of the boy admirers out there want, to see the boys as they grow up.) The fact is I enjoy words more than pictures, so there are dozens of posts that get lost in my “drafts” folder. I flipped through a few drafts today and enjoyed feeling a bit of time that has passed. Here’s one from this fall, just before Berg was born:
Usually I am around to watch the busy work of the boys unfold. Buildings are erected and knocked down, stories unfold, papers are filled with color, and heaps of intertwined bodies migrate from one end of the couch to the other and onto the floor. In the afternoon, we all take some time to ourselves where our work is out of reach, hidden in our dreams, in our thoughts, or in another room. Lately, as Emmett gets busier and I get less busy, I look forward to the little gifts of quiet time–the products of his silent, solo work unveiled as I enter his work space after an hour away.
For Eman, this time, though quiet in the audible sense, is not quiet in the tranquil sense. His mind gallops, leaps, jumps and flies. After a short reunion with me and his brother, he is quick to ask to go outside, a required antidote to all his hard work, rich in creativity and imagination, but full of contraction. And as Eman opens the front door, our little bit of quiet inside gets extended just a bit longer. I love this rhythm–what it does for him and what it gives to us. I think it will suit our family nicely as we welcome the next little man into the breathing of our day.
I relish thoughts of our days as a family of five.