Yesterday we woke up and decided not to start school. I could tell a lot was on your mind. You had a canker sore on the inside of your lip (a sign of stress for you) and you seemed distracted. It was nice outside, and I figured some sun and shooting would do you good, so we went out with the dogs.
You in your adorable new grey and orange tennis shoes that you said you LOVE in the store (you don't say you love objects or food ever) - in your Dad's orange oakleys that he was wearing the day I met him almost 16 years ago - with your new bee-bee rifle and your tin cans... watching you grow up is my favorite.
You shot and told stories and laughed to the blue sky. You loosened and played and ran through the knots with your freedom and vitamin D. I'm always so grateful on days like that, for homeschooling liberties and the chance to know you and teach you more than fractions and spelling.
Sometimes, when you wake up stiff and hurting, you just have to put on something you love, surround yourself with yours, get into the earth and do some target practice. I hope you always take care of you, son.
After we did some light school, mixed with cuddle book monday -reading Mountain Born- we went to the park up the way from us. At first it was empty. The sun was still shining warm, and the wind was blowing spring cool. You played a little, tried to swing. I think this was about our 40th lesson on how to swing yourself. You still can't do it, and I can't figure out what is stopping you. Literally, you start to swing from the ground and then the pumping stops you... ???
I watched you, seeming sad and alone with that low look you carry sometimes. I thought again of how you are too young to be so serious. Too old not to swing on your own.
Then you took off, running across the green field - the same field we've launched rockets and played with our puppies - where you held hands with your Dad and I walked behind you to watch my guys. The field where storm clouds once rolled overhead and we wondered and worried for you then, too.
I asked God to guide your Dad and I how to be for Him with you. I asked Him to guide you to be for Him, aways.
And then school must have let out, because the park began to fill in. Like it was never void. Cars pulled up and unloaded kids and parents. And before I knew it you were among them, laughing and yelling the loudest. Smiling ear to ear and playing on the slider and the bars with all the kids. It was beautiful.
It reminded me that even when everything seems empty, in the blink of an eye God can fill in, make things whole again.
We picked up some things to grill and returned home just as your Dad was getting in from work. We grilled out, slow dancing and talking while you rode your bike and played with your dogs. We piled on the couch with our dinner to watch an episode of Little House on the Prairie, and afterward we made a list of the things we would really like to have for the next three years when we move.
Your list included a hypo-allergenic cat, a chihuahua, and the far more likely to happen - your bedroom on the same floor as ours, an upholstered arm chair for yourself, and a pool of some sort. You also want to bring with you your dogs, your iPads, your bed, your weapons, and your stuffed cats.
It's good to talk about moving and what we expect, want, need, dream. Your Dad and I do it all the time, but we are going to start including you more often. Hopefully it will bring down some of your stress.
God is in control, and we are making sure to stay out of His way every single day. I trust that everything will be as He wills.
I love you, muffin.
I loved our Monday together.