I see you…

You’re over there, pushing the cutest little blond boy on the red swing. He’s smiling a sleepy, peaceful smile that gets bigger when you surprise him with a tickle up his legs.

I see you twist around anxiously to watch a ponytailed three-year-old hop up fearlessly to the top of the tall slide, the one you think she’s too small for, but can’t convince her otherwise. I can actually see you hold your breath as you let her have this independent moment and try to keep it cool for the giggling boy next to you.

I see you.

You’re glancing at the little boy’s almond eyes with such a mix of love, compassion, worry, fear, hope, I can almost feel the heaviness in your shoulders. My gosh, that love. The pride you have when he makes a statement third-person about “Zacky” wanting to swing or needing a drink. You love those muffled words, those little phrases that you understand better than anyone else and that have taken hours upon hours of therapies and practices.

You’ve scooped up Miss Ponytail, twirling her and brushing back the fine strands that never stay in place. Her laughter inspires your laughter and Big Brother travels over to join the fun.

I see you.

Your embarrassment over the tantrum that was much worse to you than anyone else.

The mix of fear and exhaustion when he runs away, not understanding danger. You understand it too well.

I can imagine you holding a dance party in your living room. Some CCR on Pandora and four little hands mimicking your shakes.

I see you when she jumps up in bed at 5:45a.m., full of energy and questions. Your mind hasn’t woken up yet so its all about pulling her in close and smelling her hair and squeezing her tight.

I can imagine the way you internally jump for joy when, instead of his usual “No Kiss-a Me,” he asks you to stay with him in bed at nighttime and you pet his hair and caress the freckle behind his right ear and sing his favorite song.

I see your hands. That push swings for contented boys and steady brave little girls. That wipe tears and create imaginary pixie dust in different colors to solve different problems. That pick up strewn toys and flatten PlayDoh.

The hips that have held infants then toddlers and now 40-pound kiddos. They handle bouncing camera bags and your treasured DSLR.

Eyes that pore over chromosome diagrams and research papers and photo editing. That attempt the stack of neglected magazines.

I see you. Doing your best and trying so hard. You do your best when you don’t even try at all, when you just let it be, let it happen.

I see you. Do you see yourself?

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Yellow car tracks

Sometimes, I forget to stop. To just stop and observe and enjoy and not worry about tomorrow or next day or even the next five minutes. To let the dishes sit in the sink another hour and to use a high-pitched princess voice or a mean and tough fighting turtle voice amidst a backdrop of laughter.

So today, I stopped.

I spent my morning with a little girl who seemed to appreciate my pause and to notice my effort. She wrapped herself around me like a pretzel, petting my hair and singing me songs and stopping to tell me “You never be sad again. You are my happy girl. You… I make you happy.” How could you argue that?

And so I was Aurora and she was Cinderella and we spent two straight hours crawling around and playing pretend.

I had to take the dog to the groomers (And yes, you should ask Scott about why his beloved puppy may or may not have a rhinestone crown and a ponytail, muhahaha) and we made it into an adventure.

It took far longer to get coats and boots on and then shovel the car out of the snow then the time it took to walk Izzie inside the building that was just four blocks away. ┬áBut when we returned to the car and Addie said, “I love adventure!”, I just couldn’t resist. So we drove around for a few minutes and looked for a tree and a heart and other fun landmarks. We got home just in time to get Zack off of the bus and my sweet girl was watching me from the living room window, waving and smiling.

And then we made baked goods because… well, because Addie came into the kitchen, sat down in the chair and proclaimed, “I help Momma cook.” And so now we have two dozen lemon bars.

Just now, I heard some noise from Zack’s room during naptime and so I went in to see what stall tactic he was working today. We’ve pretty much given up on an official naptime for him, but created a fun “nook” in his oversize closet with some books and blankets. We figure a quiet time is better than Mommy losing her sanity.

I peeked in through the crack of the doorway, and saw him hunched over pieces of his yellow car track. He had put about four curvy pieces together and was struggling with the last two parts. He looked up at me and said, very quietly, “Stuck.”

I sat down on the carpet next to him and didn’t put it together for him, but just brushed a blonde strand out of his eyes and encouraged him to keep trying. And when he did, after what felt like the longest five minutes of my life, he looked up at me with the widest grin and such twinkling eyes and wrapped his arms around my neck in a hug.

“Wuv you, Momma.”

I could have ignored the noise or not made an unnecessary dessert. I could have checked more e-mails or washed those dishes.

But today, I lived. I loved.

And I created adventures and soaked in successes.