I was watching my two younger boys in the gray twilight hours of early morning. They had each chosen a puzzle to work--or, more accurately, the 4yo had chosen a puzzle, & the 1yo had requisitioned it for himself, & the 4yo had moved to the floor with a different puzzle.
The 4yo was doing an alphabet puzzle, singing a song about the letters and their sounds as he made it up. The 1yo was standing in a chair, leaning over the table, taking a car puzzle piece & driving it along the top edge of the puzzle lid with "vrooms" & bumps. Each was so intent, so focused, they were oblivious to me there watching.
As I watched, I thought of all that raising children entails--the feeding, diapering, kissing ouches, math lessons and reading lessons...
But here they are, *doing* things without me, in spite of me, oblivious to me.
And I saw a new thing that mothers do: step back, give space. Let our children become.
It's so much more than a flower, but it reminds me of the process--of planting, watering, waiting for the seed that grows in the darkness. Watching the green sprouts curl upward toward the light. And for all we do with watering cans and dirt, there is a point at which you can see the Hand of God, the Not You of it all, when you can see the bud break open and blossom.
I Love These Boots
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