scribblechic

It was a weekend of homesickness and responsibilities. A hodgepodge of half hearted distractions and earnest busyness. Early morning board games and late night movies, afternoon chores and lost hours in between; days that were outwardly unexceptional with moments of tender awareness.

Saturday afternoon our teenage son learned to mow the lawn, a small rite of passage as we simplify pieces of our life and share new responsibilities. My husband gave our son room to demonstrate accountability and our son leaned into the effort with care. I watched my boys, father and son, moving across the yard in their tasks and marveled at the peace and pride between them. Despite the bluster of teenage disinterest, I recognized the poorly hidden attempt to please.

Sunday our daughter crumbled beneath the weight of a heavy heart, lonely for old friends. There are no words of comfort for such loneliness, only patience for the tears that came unbidden. Some days all we can do is move in harmony with sadness. I gave our fiercely independent daughter room to be vulnerable; in response she curled a little closer into my side, reached a little further for my hand.

A chore and a sorrow; unexpected invitations for awareness. Our children do not outgrow a need for purpose and comfort. Maybe the language of their asking is unfamiliar, some days they push against our offerings rather than pulling at our sleeve. Other days the awareness comes more quietly in uneventful tasks and uninvited tears, small questions of purpose and gentle requests for comfort.

Tagged: Children, Family, Musings