Hawk-Like Zen
Contrary to what you, oh loyal readers (and Facebook friends who happened to catch this on your news reel) are thinking, I do blog every day. Lately it's been just in my head, but nevertheless! I am "mind" writing. It's something!
I was filling up my car with gas a few days ago, toddler in the back seat chatting away at how blue the sky was, and I had the thought that the exercise I was currently engaged in would be a raging success if I just managed to put regular gas, and not diesel, into the car.
I am one week and two days away from having another baby. November 5th, my husband and I will be getting up miserably early to check into the hospital, bitterly without our adorable but banned-from-the-hospital-because-of-H1N1-fears toddler, and hours later our 2nd child will be brought into the world by the very modern c-section. He/she is ready now. That has been made clear.
So, I sleep (not really.) And I wake (not very well.) In and out of consciousness. Most of my waking toddler-free moments are being spent on a very large fundraiser for a very large non-profit volunteer organization, which, at times, I curse is not paying me for my solid part-time-job hours. Other times I'm thankful I have the privilege of working with such amazing and quality women.
Amid the sleepless nights, the massive volunteer hours, the preschool back and forth, and general running of one's own massive frame and a 2+ year old's life, we decided to throw construction and finance into the mix. We did some renovation on our house to add a nursery, and decided a last-minute refinance was within our capacity.
In between, we've gotten nursery walls painted. Toddler beds purchased. Baby clothes and gear set up. Fundraising. Cooking. Hosting. Cleaning. Okay, that last one is a lie, which I have to admit since my husband reads my blog.
We've been eating meals with a side of crazy.
But a week ago, my toddler, now a wise old 2-1/4 years old, and I were sitting on the front porch, just having some fun with bubbles. Dipping, blowing, making bubbles and giggles appear out of nowhere. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hawk soaring over our heads, and brought my toddler's attention to it.
He looked up, and I caught the wonder in his sparkling blue eyes. He watched the hawk soaring, circling, looking for something. The sky was crystal clear blue, the bubble wand motionless in mid-air. I followed his gaze and watched the delicate balance of wind, the twitching of a wing feather. It was a complete moment. A moment without rush, or cause, or ability to be undermined by chaos going on around us. Swoops, gentle arcs, a slight dip of a wing. Were they figure eights? Just above the tops of the gorgeous trees, ever-changing with Fall.
Watching him, watching the hawk. I saw him connect in that moment, learning, experiencing something new that I had shown him, and was momentarily overwhelmed with the emotion that is parenting.
It was Zen. A perfect moment, shared fully, quietly, completely. I looked over at a nearby bush, and the bubbles had settled on the top, watching.. waiting. Quietly.
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