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.