Wednesday, February 25, 2015

These are the moments when I'm not sure that I can stand all the beauty in this world

In the middle of a snowstorm, with a house full of rambunctious children, I handed the baby off to my husband last weekend and retreated upstairs for some much needed solitude.

I also needed desperately to dye my hair.

While the wind whipped outside and the bands of heavy, wet snow lashed against the windows, I was content to hide up.

Just me and the familiar scent of grasping at youth. For a while.

I sectioned and applied and timed and waited. Alone.

It was glorious.

I heard the baby fussing a bit, heard the familiar words my husband speaks to this, his last child, and soon he was quieted.

I wonder sometimes if it's the parenting miles we've accumulated on our odometers or just our ages now, or some magical combination of both, but I can tell you that parenting this time around has been vastly different.

This baby isn't an easy one, not by any stretch of the imagination, but parenting him has been easier. More relaxed. More familiar. 

We're more patient. We're more at ease. We relish more, push less. We just watch him more. We hold him more, linger with it all, even when we could put him down because we've learned just how short this time is. It's just more, all of it is more. I don't know how else to describe it. 

If only I'd known what I do now back when we started this parenthood journey all those years ago. 

I finished up, enjoying my last few moments of being alone in the quiet, shut off the lights and headed back downstairs to the video game infused chaos of a snow day.

About three steps down the stairs, I heard it, that song. Hallelujah, the Jeff Buckley version. My husband had been reading in the living room away from all the chaos. I found him lying there on the couch, the song softly playing in the background, fast asleep. Cradled in his arms, our son. 

It took my breath away.

I crept down the rest of the stairs and sat across from them both, watching them sleep, drinking in the moment, listening to that beautiful song. 

These are the moments when I'm not sure that I can stand all the beauty in this world.

Moments like this make me feel so terribly insignificant and filled with meaning all at once.

I took a picture, more with my mind than with the camera I used. 

These moments, the ones that bring us to our knees with gratitude, they make everything else worthwhile. They were so peaceful, so intertwined, so beautiful, like they just fit together perfectly in this moment in time and space and nothing else mattered right then. 

As I took this picture, a teenager in the adjoining room hollered down the hallway.

"Isn't that the song from Shrek?", he asked. 

I laughed quietly. Shook my head in amusement. "Oh, this was a song long before Shrek...but yeah. Yeah, it is." I replied. 

I was transported instantly back to the chaos of a video game infused snow day once more, but not before I was lucky enough to witness this, to sit with it, to be with it, to absorb it and to commit it to memory.

This man is my home, the calm in my storm, the peace in my chaos.

This child is my last, the one I never imagined I'd have the chance to meet someday.

And this? This was perfect.


  1. Oh those moments. What a beautiful one you had there....and your words to describe it - amazing!

    My heart swells with a different kind of love and pride and joy and peace and all the things when I see or hear moments like these between Baby Boy and Hun! :)

  2. What a beautiful picture you paint with your words, bringing the moment alive for all of us to live vicariously.

  3. My first visit from a recommendation and absolutely love this post. I can truly picture it all. . . because I live something like it too. What a wonderful experience (even if Shrek did make an appearance). I love the pic of your husband and child. I'm sure you will cherish it.


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