A Few Hours On a Thursday Morning

Life has always surprised me, but I find that as a mother I’m surprised more often and my vision more acute to the subtle changes, the slight differences that amuse and delight me.  Like the day this spring when I was bustling around the kitchen trying to leave the house on time and Calder saw a packet of Equal in my hand.  “Momma, you makin’ coffee?” he asked.  A mundane task and one he watches and remembers.

Or last week when, after climbing into his booster seat indpendently and without being buckled (after all we’d just finished lunch) he sat there for a moment before announcing, “I be careful, else I crack my head!” 

And this morning, as Seneca and I greeted him by coming in to play and he bounded out of bed and asked, “You sleep good Momma?” just the way I ask him every day.  I suppose I’m painting a pretty rosy picture here, so to give myself some real credibility, the little ditty I made up that goes, “Calder Damien, Calder Damien, Calder Damien, Stop Picking Your Nose!” also gets recounted often complete with the nose-picking that originally altered the final lines of his little song in the first place!

In any case, it’s these moments, that make me realize just what an awesome privilege it is to raise these two little people.  And today, I’m sure that my own mom didn’t know that she’d provided an amazing title to a poem or short story or piece of episodic fiction that I have yet to write when, basking in the gorgeous sun of a perfect summer day she commented on the perfection of the park we visited.  “It feels like we’re up north camping,” she said, “and really it’s just been a few hours on a Thursday morning.”

I guess as children we’re always watching our parents.  I’m thankful for such amazing examples and pray that I too can provide a model I’d be proud to have emulated.

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