Sights and Sounds

Our home is a sensual smorgasbord (not as in erotic sensuality, but as in an overload of stimuli for the five senses!) ... the aromas of bags full of Panera Bread, fresh laundry, brown sugar oatmeal from breakfast, strawberry birthday cake, the occasional dirty diaper, ... the feel of bread crumbs underfoot, warm cheeks against mine, slobbery face wiping on my shoulder, tiny pats on the back, tiny fingers touching my face, warm sun shining through the window, cool gusts of breeze as the front door bangs open and shut because kids are running in and out to play, ... the taste of toasted bagels, banana bread minus baking powder (banana clay - yes, John, another baking oops!), spaghetti, cookies, strawberry birthday cake, and other things that are not as tastY, but perhaps full of taste, like newly hydrated peat pots, sour milk from a forgotten sippy cup, or a crayon wrapper.

Then there are the sounds. As I started typing this, I heard a scraping/scooting sound and knew it was Ember, making her way across the floor, Flintstone style, on the crayon bucket. Currently, I hear lots of splashes and giggles from the bathroom, as Avery and Ember play in the bathtub. The inspiration for this entry came from the kitchen about an hour ago (and yes, it's taken me that long to get this far) as I was listening. I hear lots of sounds during the day, and over the last 7 and a half years, have learned to parse the sounds that inundate my ears each day ... I can do easy things like determine if a cry is pain, fear, anger, or sadness, hear that play is getting heated quickly and will end badly if not redirected, or spring like a cat and bolt up the stairs when someone falls out of bed and starts screaming. Then there are more intermediate skills, like picking out the faint sound of giggling or talking when little girls are supposed to be napping, listening between the words and offering a snack or a hug when the real issue is not that a sock won't go on right, it's just that a hungry tummy or hurt feelings have blinded perspective. My favorite advanced skills are the ones that allow me to hear a noise, usually generated by one toy banging on another object, and stunning observers by knowing what toy is banging against what object. It's a nice party trick. However, while these skills are necessary for survival here, they are not my favorites. Hearing the sharp intake of breath that marks a new discovery, especially when followed by an intense, but hushed "Wow!" is irreplaceable. It's even better when one of my children comes bursting into the room to show me or each other their discovery. I love hearing them learn, whether it's a physics lesson (a step stool needs to have all four legs on the ground to be a sturdy tool), the little "grunts" of working to put on their own shoes, the shouts of victory when they accomplish the shoes (even more exciting when they're on the correct foot!), the quiet prayers after a bad dream, and even the sometimes frustrating, "I can do it myself!"

The sights for any of you who have children, or any of you who have ever visited my home, know that they are pretty awe-inspiring, from walking down the stairs naked, calmly crossing the room to a box of cheese crackers that is on the love seat, and sicking an arm down in there to have a little snack (all while we have company), wild dancing at a wedding reception (just in case you were wondering, "the Egyption" is not a dance that died in the 80s), faces/hair/tummies/hands/legs/walls/carpet/new clothes covered in Sharpie marker/fingernail polish/mascara/stamp ink/strawberry jelly/yogurt/snot/silly putty are some of the more "shock value" things I can think of quickly. Then there are the sweet sights, of unsolicited baby hugs, high fives, sparkling eyes, Cheshire grins, shy smiles, triumphant leaps when they learn to kick at and actually make contact with the ball, the fear and conquering of the bicycle, and looks of hopeful acceptance accompanied by "Daddy, am I beautiful?".

These are signs of growth, and as we watch our little seedlings hatch from our peat greenhouse, they remind me of my own little seedlings. Stubborn, fragile, exploring, tentatively turning faces to the sun. They need the shelter of the greenhouse at this point, as they can't face the cold night temperatures or large piles of snow that sometimes collect in our yard at this point. We will tend them, I'm sure making the mistake of watering too much or not enough at times, (thankfully they are somewhat resilient!) until they are able to be planted outside to grow freely in the garden. They will then require more tending, guiding (you know how pumpkin vines can wander!), and protection from pests, until they are ready for harvest. I hope, that as we tend our little sprouts, that we hear more "I love you"s, more "... and he took his peanut butter sandwich and dipped it in his milk and gave it to his friends saying, 'eat this, it's for you so we can be together again someday!'", and "I'm sorry I hurt you." ... that we see more hugs, arms around the shoulder, giving spontaneously and generously, and eventually, when the slugs come swarming or the squirrels try to snag the fruit off the vine, that there will be a barrier in place to protect them and bring them to fruition.

Well, I didn't intend to make this a deep post, I guess God is teaching me today (although, after the kids get done with their bath, we are going to play school and I am to be the teacher). Thanks for listening to me, and for so many of you, helping me be a better mom and loving my kids. OK, the bathwater has been refreshed twice now, and it's getting cool, so I'm going to put this away and get two wrinkled, pruney-toed girls out of the bath for some lunch, school, and naps. Have a wonderful day!