Yesterday we went to a nearby state park, just me and the littlest. It was one of those summer days that makes me wish every day would be like it and fear that there will never be another as perfect: sunshine, dry air, a breeze, warm. The boy plunged into the cold creek water, squealing again and again. He did a circuit through sand and mud, and then ran in, as deep as he could go. I dug my feet into the mud and listened to the breeze rustle leaves, the water run over rocks, and the boy sing, "You're my best mommy. You're my hero." .
It is easy to see the glass half empty. Some days I can think that this isn't the shape my life was supposed to take. And certainly by now I should have had some time to think my own thoughts and sleep past 5:30 a.m. I should have been helping my older boys figure things out and accomplish what they need to accomplish to set them on the best trajectory into adulthood. I should have been working more, earning more. College is upon us. Instead my days have been consumed by a relentlessly demanding little one. A complicated boy. It feels like he takes everything from me and leaves me with very little for anyone else. I can grow somewhat resentful if I let those thoughts sink it. I worry that the situation makes his brothers resentful, and surely it does sometimes.
But yesterday we went to the creek. We kicked up cold water and searched for shiny rocks. Later we sat on a boulder beneath a tree and just listened. "I like it here," he said. He kissed me and hugged me. I would never have been listening to a breeze, squishing my toes in mud, or splashing in cold water yesterday if it were not for him. My glass is not half empty. It is overflowing. Some days I just need to remember that.
