"Mommy...are you home?"

I had just a little time with Lilian this morning.  She slept in.  And I had plans.  Big plans.  I had some help and I was going to get out to take care of myself.  I had constructed a long list of all of the things that I wanted to do.  When the little one woke up with sleep in her eyes and a sweaty brow, I already had my running shoes on and was ready to go.  I fixed her breakfast, gave her her vitamin and got her dressed in lightning speed.  She tried slowing me down with her sweet, slow questions but I had a deadline for leaving the house and I was sticking to it.  In her laid back manner, she protested only with a quiet "no" to my leaving and soon agreed that playing with Abby and Blair would do just fine for her.

And with some quick kisses and minimal directions, I was off in a flurry.  And I followed through with my own directions which felt something close to divine.  I ran through the woods.  I practiced yoga by the river.  I sat.  And stayed.  I even wrote a bit.  And I drank tea by myself.  All of these practices were short compared to previous standards, but I needed to do all of them.  I was like a car nearly on empty and I could feel myself filling up, one precious activity at a time.

And although my heart felt more at ease, I returned home with busy-ness still in my step.  I rushed to the bathroom before Abby had to leave, fixed ice water and lunch for Lilian and set up a chair to feed Blair.  Lilian ran and grabbed a book for me to read while she ate her lunch and in the midst of this new flurry, she asked, again in her sweet, slow speech, "Mommy, are you home?"

Of course, I outwardly replied yes, but I was struck by the profundity of this question.  Am I here?  How often am I "with" my kids, but really somewhere else....planning; creating lists; thinking of the many other things that I could be doing; or stuck in some pattern of worry or complaint.  So this is my resolve, at least for today, to repeatedly ask myself this question, "are you home?"

Swingin' With It

"Mommy!  You don't need to push me!"  

"What?"

She ran to the swing.  

Pure pride in her stride.  

And there she went.  

Hopped on and used her two feet on the ground to get herself going.  

In what seemed like an instant, she was swinging as high as if I had given her a hefty push and tickled her back saying, "not so high!"

I looked on with pure astonishment.  For me, this was as big as her first steps (if you can compare such a thing.)  I have been pushing her since she was six months old (and this little one has always adored the swing so that is a lot of pushes!)

I clapped and cheered as my mind raced back to grasp . . ., "it's gone!  The time of pushing Francesca is gone."  Outwardly, I exclaimed, "what am I supposed to do now?  I am out of a job!"  Francesca laughed as she does when I say this and went right on swinging with joy!

At least twice a day I yearn for Francesca's independence: do you really need me to come to the bathroom with you?;  Sit with you while you get dressed?;  You are almost 5!  I am teaching her to butter her own toast and cut with scissors.  But I was not prepared for this swinging-on-her-own business.  And that is the thing about motherhood; our frustrations are also our joys: our letting go is also our holding on.  And rarely do we have a say; more and more people will teach the girls things that I know nothing about and they will come running, exclaiming their success; their independence . . .that for which we wished.  

I held out my hand to Francesca as we walked to the car.  I breathed a sigh of gratitude as she took my hand.  I made darn sure to pause right there; feeling her hand in mine knowing full well that someday, without any warning at all, she will no longer take it.