Running a marathon at a snail's pace
It's like this... I want to fast forward and slowdown every single day with these tiny people that crawl and race and shriek and giggle and scream and dance and tantrum and troubadour their way up and down the hall and across our living room rug.
We spent the morning at the Duck Pond... an indoor play space for little people. Which mean Chap snuck in a 10 minute cat nap on the way there and 10 minutes on the way home... and called it good for the rest of the day. People. He didn't close his eyes again until 7pm. Bless my momma heart.
It's a good thing you are so cute, buddy...
Milo spends most of his time as vertical as possible. He scales walls and furniture. He spent a good 15 minutes with his nose pressed against our glass door watching the gardeners in our back yard this afternoon. He's been caught multiple times digging in the pots in the indoor plant. And he scavenges for food on the floor under his highchair. I try to sweep after every meal... but if buddy sees me coming with a broom, he thinks it's snack time as I collect rogue cheerios and bits of grapes and crackers.
Matt worked late, which meant we were in a run down the clock situation until bedtime. I took the brothers on an evening stroll/bike ride around the neighborhood. Oliver, who has developed a bit of anxiety related to the lizards that live under EVERY bush on our street, kept up a constant stream of questions related to the lizards. We had a long talk about wether or not the lizards were "sweepin" (sleeping) and wether or not they wear "jammers" and wether or not their eyes were "cwosed."
We stopped at every street sign and found out what it said and listened to the lovely sounds that our hands make when we tap, clap and bonk it. One thing that having a toddler has taught me is that there is no need to hurry while on a stroll. An evening stroll is an evening stroll... it's not a race to get anywhere... for whatever reason, I still have to swallow and resist the urge to rush past street signs, or sticks in our path, or lady bugs or any shiny (or not so shiny) thing that catches Oliver's eye and demands inspection.
And so, we moved slowly around the block... sometimes biking, sometimes walking, sometimes strollering... at a snail's pace.
But when I slow down... and chose to enjoy the toddler pace, it is an amazing and hilarious and bizarre thing to experience the neighborhood from a 2 year old boy's perspective.
The most random things stop him in his tracks.
I want to memorize this season.
I want to memorize Oliver's voice, and the way he moves, and the way he pronounces his "L's and R's." and how he asks for comfort: "I want my tummy to hode your tummy."
I want to memorize the wight of Milo in my arms, and the strength of Oliver's grip when he's sitting on my hip.
I want to memorize the secret brother language between he boys. Every time Oliver hollers "Oh-cha-whaaaa" both boys belly laugh uncontrollably.
I want to slow it all down and soak it in and memorize it.
And I want to speed it up, and move around the neighborhood and through this season at a steady clip.
But this seasons and these evening strolls happen in fits and starts. Some moments and days fly by, and other moments and days crawl along and we wait until 7pm shows up on the clock.
And most days it is one foot in front of the other. One more load of laundry. One more sippy cup rinsed and loaded in the dishwasher. One more bedtime story. One more diaper. One more stroll around the neighborhood. One more stick to inspect. One more bonk on the metal street sign. One more "snuggey me" and "hode jew" (hold you) before bed.
Strengthen those feeble hands, mommas. And steady those knees that give way.
This is hard work. This is a marathon, accomplished today at a snail's pace.
Be strong and do not fear.
Your God will come. (Is 35:3)