In the Moment...

You know those moments where you find yourself in awe of the miracles and the blessings of your life. It snuck up on me. We are blissfully busy with recitals, end of year plays, ceremonies and sports games.
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Today I had a moment.

You know those moments where you find yourself in awe of the miracles and the blessings of your life. It snuck up on me. We are blissfully busy with recitals, end of year plays, ceremonies and sports games. There are multiple field trips and parties and gifts to be given to all the amazing people that helped my children grow through the year. May is just that way. The house is a mess, the loads of laundry are in a pile fermenting in the basement, and I am tired. Very tired. A good tired. But tired.

After a day at the park with my son's kindergarten class, I planned to get my kids fed, unpacked from school, and off to the gym for my friend's awesome ZUMBA class. But my body kept twitching that familiar "I'm breaking down" twitch, and I battled between how much I could push it and how much I should rest it. Today I had a choice. The gym was optional. Most often, we mothers do NOT have a choice to rest. Our children demand that we "push it" and we always come through. This time I got to choose. I chose rest. Tonight was the first night in weeks we had nowhere to race off to in a hurry. I decided that we all needed to just stay home.

So as the kids ran around the yard and I watered the freshly planted flowers, we cranked up the CD player and Adele's voice echoed through the wind. After spraying my kids with the hose, I sat to rest for just a moment thinking of the laundry, the dust, the dirty floors, the piles of school papers and the dinner that needed to be cooked. My son came over soaking wet to climb onto my lap and snuggle for warmth in the sun. As I held him and rocked to the music, I looked at my daughter, anticipating her jumping to fight for her place on my lap. But instead I saw her swinging high with one hand holding the rope and the other clearly forming a microphone held up to her lips as she sang with a passion only a pretend broken-hearted nine-year-old soul could sing. Her eyes closed tight, as it seemed her soul was feeling every pulsating beat of the love song. She was in another imaginary world.

I remember when I would do that as a child, well into my teens. I would sing to my record albums and 45s for hours at a time in our basement, from my grade school years through to my college days. Some songs I would listen to over and over again, as I could never get enough. I loved watching her. I loved to see that same passion.

As my son squeezed me tighter and my daughter sang louder, the sun beat down on my face and my drenched, hot body absorbed the joy. And then it hit me. I went into that out-of-body perspective, when you look from above down at the picture of your own life...

And I saw a mother holding her precious baby, watching her other baby nearby singing her heart out and swinging in the wind. There we were. Enjoying this free moment in our beautiful big yard, outside our lovely home, with nothing but amazing blessings behind us, and a wonderful future ahead of us. The love of my life will be home soon from a good job that God handed him through a close friend. Experiencing the joy of the soccer games and recitals, the plays and the field trips... we have one evening to rest, before moving on to t-ball games, end of year parties and ceremonies and graduations. As I sat in the sun holding my soaked child, rocking, and singing Adele on a warm spring day, I realized once again, how good life really is.

I anticipated my son squirming off of me within a minute to go play, but he didn't. We stayed morphed together for some time rocking and singing. My daughter kept performing, as I would open my eyes every once in a while to watch her.

During this perfect moment of time, I thought about my mom friend who doesn't get to see her kids every day due to her divorce. I remembered another mom I saw in a wheelchair who has been bedridden for months with a mysterious debilitating disease. I realized another dear friend would soon be leaving her infant to go back to work. I grieved all over again about another precious friend who lost her baby. I lifted up a quiet prayer for them all and then focused back to my big picture moment.

I am so blessed. So very, very blessed.

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