Spring always finds me in a lack of readiness to wake up. The kids are already fishing, playing baseball in the yard, and I’ve thoroughly deep cleaned the entryway shoe closet. The cats are spending more time in the woods and this time of year I take care to make sure that all nine of them get their Resolution flee treatments. Tom had been our latest addition until winter when the neighbors from across the road moved and left Ghost.
My body feels tired, heavy, and slow. Camp traffic has been steadily increasing over the past several weeks, and soon, the morel mushroom hunters will be out in full force. There’s kind of an honor system payment method around here, and three times today people have knocked on our door with money to put toward their weekend stay. It’s weird sharing your home with random strangers, and at the same time, I don’t mind it.
If winter is the time when all the kids are home for Christmas, spring is the time they again begin to leave the nest. It really doesn’t matter what season it is. Today I’m feeling that acute pain of time’s passing. It comes and goes. This past week my daughter and I went to to spend a few days with my sister who’s just had her fourth baby. Little Eoin (pronounced “Owen”) quickly found a place in my heart. There aren’t many things that I can claim a level of mastered skill, but caring for newborns is a world I deeply know.
My sister texted me a picture of Eoin today, and already, in a matter of days, he’s changed. I’m not sure why the changing of our children induces painful tears at times. My mom cried when putting away my baby sister’s pink and purple newborn clothes. I can remember with my youngest three boys, being so intimately familiar with the changes of their faces, knowing that this is the one week-old look, then the two-week old look, etc. I would stare at their faces just trying to keep them forever in my heart.
It’s not all sad though. Just this morning after church, while he was standing in the doughnut line, I noticed my son’s eyes were closer to mine than they’d recently seemed. He is only now about a half an inch shorter than me, and by the end of the summer, maybe even before, he’ll be taller I’m sure. This change makes me nearly giddy with delight and wonder. His hands and his feet are bigger than mine, his calves are thicker than mine, his voice, gradually, is on its way to becoming very different from mine.
You all are so patient to let me talk about these things. I know I tend to cycle through the same old themes again and again. I wish I could sit down and hear you talk about all that God is doing in your life and how much you are blessed. Life is so much fun, friends.