A Little Bit of Nothing by Jane Danner

 

A Little Bit of Nothing

By Miss Jane

 

I held my newborn grandson for the first time last night. He slept soundly in my arms, snuggled up against me, much as his father had done so many years ago—a whole lifetime ago. And now here was Harrison, so small and so infinitely beautiful, his little body swaddled snugly in cotton, wool knit cap over his dark hair. Holding that little tiny being in my arms I was overwhelmed with gratitude and wonder at all the moments I got to witness of this baby’s father’s life. I was lucky enough to be there for all of it. Every single day and night. Now, looking back, I wouldn’t wish for one less poopy diaper, one less crabby whiny day, one less long teething session or horrible earache, one less snotty coughing sleepless night, I wouldn’t give up one second of it all. Suddenly, I have come into the presence of still waters.

Did I know that then, when I was going through it all? Probably not. Though I would catch my mom or my dad on some rare occasion with a tear in their eye as they looked wistfully at my children. Or when they would laugh good naturedly at something snotty my kids had said that embarrassed me to no end and I would hear them mutter under their breath, “The apple doesn’t fall far…!” My own daughter now tells me emphatically, “Oh shut up, mother!” when I say it to her. 

I know it may seem an impossibly long time away right now, but time really does have a way of slipping past us and the idea of a poopy diaper being romanticized in anyway ridiculous. But there I was smiling when, as I lifted Harrison back into his mother’s arm, he filled his diaper. I know! I would not have believed it myself if you had told me, there in the smell of a diaper can lie the peace of wild things.

I would not have believed you if you had told me that one day I would be filled with longing and overwhelming love while watching my older grandsons. Their parents went on a short vacation not so long ago and little James was the first of the three to stand in the doorway of the bedroom in the wee hours of the morning and say, “I feel sick”, just before puking all over the hallway floor. But there it was. Memory after memory flooding back. Gentler now with the passage of time. How many nights Ian and his siblings had gotten me out of bed in the wee hours to change bedding, mop up floors, and rest a cool hand on a hot little forehead. Yet there in the dark hours of the night shines the light of the day- blind stars.

The easy times are easy to appreciate; reading stories to Olivia, tucked in my arms and getting ready for nap time brings back floods of memories of the books I read to my children: Peter Rabbit and Green Eggs and Ham, The Great Brain and Percy Jackson and of course Harry Potter! Our many camping trips with Abryanna bring back memories of High Cliff Park and Mauthe Lake. They are beautifully etched in my memory as well. I expected that. I didn’t expect the hard times to come back so fondly and forcefully as well.  And so I don’t really expect that you will believe me either, when I say that they are all good memories, but it will come. It will come resting in the grace of the world.

In the meantime, I get to gaze upon these incredible children in my care and wonder about them. What will their amazing futures hold? Will there be spouses? Will there be babies? You are so lucky to be a part of their futures! I can only stand back and guess. Will Penelope climb Mount Everest someday, as I predict? Will Simukai be on the cutting edge of AI technology and will Quentin become an all-star wrestling champion? Will Margaret sing opera? And Amelia become a vet or a biologist? Will Bridget study robotics? Will Calvin become a state champion in debate? Will Felix become a peace activist? Will Theo enter politics? Who knows? I just know that I am tremendously privileged to be a part of their now.

 

The Signs of Spring by Calynn Klohn

 

The Signs of Spring

By Miss Calynn

 

My favorite signs and symbols of spring are the first sight of green, and the subsequent sprouting of flowers— the resilient kind that can put up with sudden drops of cold and copious watering from the rain. I’m certain we all marveled in the Scilla that covered the forest around LifeWays! Another of my cherished spring things is the sound of birds chirping, much more cheery than the slow and somber winter calls, and alive with prospects of new life and welcomed warmth.

There is a quiet similarity in the turning of winter to spring and the growth of young children. In fact, if we split the years of our lives up into seasons, spring would surely be the first. As I’ve gotten to grow with the children at LifeWays during the colder months, I closely began to detect the sifting energy when those first purple-blue buds arrived. I heard the way Lena’s words formed into coherent names and labels. What was not long ago babble, has become an excited effort to name things like ‘necklace’, ‘shovel’, and of course the names of her cherished friends.            

I watched the way Owen dug through the dirt to find worms for each of his littler friends who needed a hand finding one, and respectfully setting them back into their dirt homes when it was time to go inside. And we celebrated the coming of new siblings into the world, born into a season of fresh soil, ready to tuck them in and guide them upward towards their sunny purpose!

There is a clear readiness I feel amongst the children for being outside and in the summer sun, but we know that there are still some necessary pieces of the spring season that are occurring. And any frustration we may feel in waiting for the temperature to turn, or the rain to pass, is identical to the feelings of our children as they trial and error their new skills. They may have a voracious readiness to excel and develop quickly, but there are certain vital moments in their process of learning that will feel frustrating, painstaking, and endless to them.

This is their spring season— a time of setting strong foundations, of making sure their garden soil is nutrient dense, and this invisible underground process is the very thing that will bud the flowers later in the spring and summer. And by the end of summer, I know that we will look back and marvel at the things that have sprouted and bloomed in our children’s lives.

May we as caregivers be like the chirping birds to our children— offering them pleasant song to work along to, sometimes incessantly singing the same chirp again and again until we hear it called back to us! But a sweet thing to listen to, regardless.