I awoke early this morning, hoping to catch some time of quiet reading before the inevitable wave of chaos, volume, and wonder that is our kids waking up. I grabbed some leftover coffee I stashed in the fridge, opened a window, and sat in my favorite chair with a book.
In silence easy
To be born again
To be born again
About a half a second later our youngest woke up, ready to be “out! done!”
I went to help him out of his crib and thought maybe he’d play quietly while I read a bit. But it was time for “milk! milk!” And so I got him some milk.
And then it was time for “dance! dance!”
It was definitely not time for “dance, dance.” It was time for quiet, silence, coffee, and a book.
But he was insistent. He leaned in, patted the carpet where we have our family dance parties, did a few spins and leaned in again – “dance!”
So I popped on Astral Weeks and we danced.
You turn around you turn around you turn around you turn around
And I’m beside you
Beside you, oh child
To never never wonder why at all
As we danced, our oldest awoke and ran out, smiling and laughing. Within a minute we were all on our backs doing bicycle kicks. It was impossible not to laugh, smile, and find joy.
It was the best of all possible mornings, but when Krissy returned from her early morning working at a coffee shop, I had already entered a space of forgetful frustration:
“The boys have been cranky since they woke up.”
Looking back from the vantage point of this afternoon, it’s a slow release of silent and spoken curses and regrets. But also a glimmer of grace as I remember and solidify the true reality of this morning’s magic.
You breathe in you breathe out you breathe in you breathe out you breath in
you breathe out you breathe in you breathe out
And I will never, never, never
Grow so old again.
God, help me never, never, never grow so old again that I miss these morning moments.