Connecting with a Child

You wake.  The rustling starts in your room - I feel it more than hear it.  And then the squeak of the hinges from your bedroom door fills the silence.  I hear your feet slapping against the tile floor before I see you.  And I don't know yet how our morning will go.  You come around the corner and stop to stare at me for a few seconds.  I drop whatever I'm doing and turn to you with a toothy smile and open arms and tell you how happy I am that you are awake.  Some mornings you climb into my lap.  Those are my favorite mornings because those mornings are easy.

Other mornings your eyebrows furrow in my direction.  Your shoulder turns as I reach for a hug and I see the anger in your eyes. On those mornings you make me work harder for that smile I love so much. But that smile comes, now.  If I work.  Always.
This is progress.

I've studied you.  For four years and seven months I've watched.
Learned.
Tried.
Failed.
Failed.
Failed.
And succeeded.

There is one lesson, one most important lesson, that I have learned about you.

You feel love through service.

It took me four years to figure out this truth in you.  Four years is much too long to find a truth as important as this, and for that I am sad.  But I am happy that it did not take longer.  I am happy I took the minutes, the hours, the days, the months, and the years to ponder about you.
Because now
I know.

It is not really in my nature to serve.  And you are good for me in that way.  You are making me into a better person because I care enough about you to change myself.  The progress is slow.  But it is moving.

It is not really in my nature to serve, even though my days are filled with serving.  But I see now that folding your laundry means little to you today.  Much greater is the time I take away from the folding to help you reach that toy.
To fill your cup with fresh water.
To tie that string around your toy car.
To read that storybook.
To serve you in ways that you feel,
ways that you see,
ways that you understand.

So that is why, on the days when you awake with furrowed eyebrows and anger in your eyes, I dance in service circles around you.  That is why, when I see that my service has erased your furrowed eyebrows and replaced the anger in your eyes with joy and love, you see my fist pump the air.

Because I love you.
Because I want you to know that.
Because I want you to feel that.
And that moment when my heart connects with yours and I know you've felt my love?
That is a beautiful moment.

Transformation

It happened.



It happened as if something like this always happened.  When, actually, it's never happened.

"Can I hold Timothy?"  Miles has said this sentence before.  Just a small handful of times.  Two? Maybe Four?  But before we can even respond with a 'Sure' his request has always been rapidly retracted.  "Nussing (nothing)!  I didn't say anyssing.  Nussing.  I didn't say anyssing."

In fact, the last time Miles held Timothy was the same time you heard about... back when Timothy was five days old... And, you may remember, Miles received two pieces of gum as a bribe for that one (and watched Brian almost the entire time he was getting said gum).

Since that day we've rejoiced in the small successes that show that Miles is loving his little brother.  A glance here.  A smile there.  A pat on the head at the end of the day.  Last week when Miles came to give me a hug and kiss goodnight, he stopped and gave Timothy a hug and kiss as well.  That was big.  And then today, before I wiped the sleep out of Timothy's eyes, before I changed him out of his wet pajamas, Miles asked to hold him.

"Why, sure," I said calmly and slowly moved to transfer TK from my lap to his... fully expecting the retraction.  And then... it didn't come.  Ever!  I made it all the way to Miles's lap and even removed my hands.

And it only took three months, two weeks and six days!

Knowing I wanted a picture, but not wanting to ruin the moment I said, "Oh, would you like me to take a picture to show you what you look like when you hold Timothy?"

"Okay."

I only took two pictures to try to keep the happiness around.  But, that's all I need.  Looks like the friendship is starting...

Remembory

Dear Miles:

Being a grown-up is hard sometimes.  You have to make scary decisions about lots of things.  Money, children, jobs.

Sometimes you have to move away from a beautiful, beautiful life and into the darkness of uncertainty.  You have to say goodbye to friends and places that have become such a part of you that you hope and pray there will be enough of you left to continue when they're no longer there.

You have to carry the weight of family decisions and you have to think, a lot, about how to protect your kids and family from all sorts of trouble.  You have to work, even when you're sick.  And you have to do the dishes every day.

You have to spend a lot of money and you have to save a lot of money and sometimes you can't do both and you have to choose.

You'll be a grown-up someday.  And I hope that when you are, you'll have a little kid just like you who will help you remember that, even though being a grown-up is hard sometimes, life is still so, so beautiful and you can have this. much. fun. playing a simple game of 'Membory'.