I was originally going to write how I was too short on time to write much of a post but how interesting is that?
So forget all of that. Let’s start over.
There’s usually one part of your day that’s better than others, however marginally. It’s important to take note of these moments. What we focus on expands. That’s why you shouldn’t look at your figure in the mirror too long.
The highlight of my day was carrying my kids. At one point or another, I carried each child and each was unique, just like they are.
I carry my two year old son the most often. He’s light. Likes to snuggle. And is the most “morning person” in the house except for me.
My four year old son has been a struggler lately. I think we’ve been easier on him of late because of the fall he had on the weekend. He’s been taking advantage of the “kid gloves”. I’ve been carrying him not without a struggle, often to the naughty step… or to the kitchen table to eat or wherever he should be but isn’t going.
My daughter is not one who gets carried often. A sad reality of growing up. I asked who wanted to get carried up to bed first and she jumped at that. Can this be the same little girl I held with one arm when she was born? — the famous “football hold”. Well, she delighted the most at being carried up tonight.
I think we all long to be carried every now and then. To be held and to trust someone to hold us.
My four year old son always asks for an uppy in the church’s parking lot. I usually oblige but often ask him when is he going to carry me? He never gives a very reassuring answer. But maybe one day when I’m too old to blog daily, and I rename this the “Weakly Damien” (spelling intended), he and is siblings will read this old entry and feel something. Guilt. And together they will spring me from Shady Pines and carry me and their mother around town… like Ditka and Buddy Ryan in the ’85 Super Bowl.
Yeah, and that is the best thing that happened to me someday.