Spring Morning (it's not What You Think)
Spring is on its way. Despite the impending snow, I am certain. This morning, I heard a bird sound I have never heard before. It sounded like twisting a peg in a block of wood: er-EEEEE er-EEEEE - I have no idea what it is. But I have noticed a lot more crows this week. Just a few mornings ago, I was nursing G when out of months of silence, I heard birds for the first time. And later that day, another foreign sound: a dog barking. I also saw two does grazing on staghorn sumac and grass alongside the road where snow has begun to melt.
Today started with a first - the first time I've ever been turned down for nursing. G took one side, then instead of taking the other, just said, "No fank you." And crawled over me to get off the bed. Ha! Well, there's a first time for everything.
We delivered C late to preschool because we were avoiding the Personal Body Safety session; we just haven't reached the point where he's asking any of those questions, and he's almost never out of our sight, so we weren't comfortable with a presentation on private parts yet, and don't feel it's necessary right now.
G and I went to the grocery store (a 16" snowstorm is currently falling) where we had the following encounter:
grocery store custodian: Ohhhhhh, isn't she just the best baby! So calm, just lounging there (a rare occurrence; she'd just been handed a cinnamon raisin mini-bagel) Is she a good baby? She looks like a good baby. me: Oh yes! She is a good baby. Are you a good baby?! G: HAHA! Nooooooooo.
Meanwhile, I was due back at preschool for a requested meeting to explain to the head of school why we've chosen to pull C from preschool. The reason has nothing to do with the school; I love that place. But C just isn't that into it. And for right now, he doesn't have to be. I have precious little time with C and G, little time for them to be together, and he's not begging to go to preschool. He never talks about it except to say how much he dislikes it, though his teachers say he does very well in the classroom. I wanted him to give it a fair chance. And he did; after 6 months of struggling, he's accepting it. But that's not enough for the opportunity cost of the time we could have together. It's really that simple. Sure, I'm taking heat from other people, but I don't really care. This is the right decision for us, right now. It's only for now.
But I was of course, nervous. And G was in a sporadically screamy mood. And I had to unload groceries in the increasing snow. And get over there in 20 minutes for this spur-of-the-moment meeting. It was all...a lot.
After preschool, we played in the snow while it fell. Lightly at first, falling straight down. Not much had accumulated just yet. We stumbled across the icy snow, G with assistance, and C running down the hill into the neighbor's yard. While they climbed their back steps, the noise suddenly started: in the deafening quiet, a pickety pickety rain shower that sounded just like a thousand pinhead-sized styrofoam balls hitting a single sheet of paper. You almost have to hold your breath just to imagine it.
I turned around and the snow was blowing diagonally, and within a minute, snow accumulated on the small cedars behind me. The sound was snow hitting dried leaves that still clung from an autumn that just wasn't in a hurry. As a child, I never understood these words, but now I do:
"As wild leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky"
Leaves do do that. So do snowflakes, just in front of your windshield. So does snow blow wavy whips across the road as you approach. In each of these, there is an awareness of natural elements meeting you, but getting out of the way. Maybe greeting or warning you; it's unclear. But when you let go of the boundaries - the walls, the windshields, the car, your unacceptance...snow hits your right in the face with a familiar and fearless encounter; you're in my territory now. You're part of this. This is where you came from, and where you'll return.