scribblechic

Big brown eyes brimming with wonder, my son is fascinated by the immeasurable quality of time.  His first insight came over a year ago when he uttered casually: I wish there were a way to recycle wasted time.  I immediately captured his words on paper and frequently re-read his sentiment marveling at the purity of his wish.

This summer, as the school year approached, he revisited the subject of time feeling overwhelmed by the dwindling days of summer vacation.  Mournful and mindful of each day leading up to the first day of school, he was reflective and sensitive.  He would passionately proclaim the imbalance of time’s measurement, convinced that time passes too quickly functioning outside the boundaries marked by the simple hands of man-made clocks.

Last night, he came to me long gangly legs awkwardly tumbling down the stairs, a face marked by discovery and a voice hushed with the awe of awareness and said:  Mom, I figured out the true meaning of happiness in life. You can wish all you want for your birthday and Christmas, but you shouldn’t. Time will slip away through your fingers, but you won’t realize it. The true meaning of happiness is to enjoy each and every day.

Again, I felt the need to capture a singular moment in time, my fingers rushing desperately across my keyboard attempting to catch his words in proper sequence.  This child that came to me as an unexpected gift, a happy surprise, has marked the passing of years with an awareness and wisdom that inspires me to embrace each moment.