For One Moment, It DidIt’s Monday morning, and the usual list of things to do is running through my mind…
- Run a load of dishes
- Transfer the load from the washing machine to the dryer
- Make sure the card has a stamp on it before I mail it
- Finish my homework for Priscilla Shirer’s Breathe study
- Fold the dry clothes and start a new load
- Start dinner in the crockpot
Normally these daily chores are done to the background noise of a television show or two sisters fighting over the green crayon, usually in combination with each other. My mind has grown accustomed to the clatter, fading to white noise so that I only register high and low tones. Or shrieks that indicate the fighting has reached the point that I must intervene. But this morning, I put on Pandora and we listened to Christmas music instead. I finished the dishes and was about to run downstairs to change the loads, when I heard a soft whisper.
So there, at the top of the stairs, I stopped. I took in the scene sitting before me. The living room was littered with open packages from birthday gifts. There were boots strewn across the floor, and there were random pieces of Legos and dolls and crafts spilling out of boxes. I saw socks I needed to fold and books that needed to be put away.
Then I looked beyond the mess and, in the midst of it all, sat two little girls, side by side, playing contently with new paper dolls. There was no screaming or fighting or demanding that the other share. Instead, by the glow of the Christmas tree and with ‘Where Are You Christmas?’ playing in the background, they were quietly playing make believe. It was serene and peaceful. The moment was rich with emotion and thankfulness.
I felt the familiar lump rise in my throat. Every day I’m growing more aware that this time in my life is coming to an end. I’ve been mourning the fact that next year Reagan will be in school all day, and I’ll no longer have two little girls as my morning companions. And in two short years, Ashlynn will be in school too. The days of little ones being underfoot are drifting away and I find myself wishing that I could make time stop moving.
And for one moment today. It did.