Throwing Snowballs

We are all guilty of it to some degree.  Some more than others, but who am I to compare?  I'm guilty.  I'm guilty of missing moments that shouldn't be missed.  I'm guilty of putting housework and text messages before staring into the eyes of my baby for more than a minute.  I'm guilty of not taking time to throw snowballs.

My sleep last night was not sound, and I woke up this morning feeling that throbbing pain in my right sinus cavity.  My body was a bit achey, and when I stood upright I groaned out loud.  Then and there I decided the girls would ride the bus because I knew I would want to crawl back into bed and rest.  My oldest scolded me for being mean.  My middle child thrashed at the thought of having to get up.  I cringed at having to brave the cold with body aches if they missed the bus.  My determination to push MY agenda came across as "mean".  And I was guilty.

Because of my insistency that they hurry hurry, they were dressed and ready 15 minutes before the bus was even coming around the corner.  So I pulled my 6 year old up on the couch next to me and we spent a few minutes talking about how the definition of love really is many different characteristics.  The verse today is the famous 1 Corinthians 13:4 "Love is patient, love is kind..." I apologized for being "mean" and we exchanged a few more ideas on love, and being thoughtful before they ran out to wait in the cold.

And I did.  I did crawl back into bed. My son was still sleeping and I was expecting to hear the marching of his awake feet before I even felt the warmth of my favorite fleece blanket around me, but he slept.  He slept much much longer than usual.  It was just the baby and I, wrapped in that warm fleece.  She was wide awake and content to be near me.  I was really feeling yucky, but laying there and looking at her.  The way she would turn her head almost as if she was shy but then find my eyes again and smile with her whole body melted my aches away.  My son eventually did find us, and we loved on our baby until the morning hunger pains pulled me out of bed once more.  I left the dishes in the sink, quick cleared the counters and back to bed we went.  I spent the next two hours just there.  Not sleeping, or wishing something different.  I spent that time watching my baby smile, anticipating a laugh, and singing a familiar Sara Groves melody over and over and over.  

I eventually looked at the clock, and began thinking about what I'd fix for our early lunch.  The three of us (Son, baby, and I) would take a short walk around noon.  All morning I was wondering if I'd have to excuse myself from an afternoon gathering, but my rest time and a hearty lunch gave me just the strength I was hoping for.  

We headed out for our short walk, and though the ground was snow covered, the sun felt so warm on my face.  I am also guilty for hibernating in the winter.  But I will not get started on that just now.  That feeling of winter sun, you know, the kind when you tilt your head back and let your lids fall, and then- only then, can you begin to feel it warm your cheeks.  Thats the kind I felt today.  Then I felt the small pang of guilt once again.  Why on earth would I with hold such a luxury from myself just because I find the combination winter gear and whiny children so challenging that I give way to hibernation!?!  

On our way back home, my son got to kicking the snowbanks alongside the road.  The snowplow left a perfect mini mound of snowballs- the kind that a 4 year old boy cannot resist kicking.  So as we approached the intersection on these country roads, he just stopped moving forward, and began picking up the ice chunks and throwing them down the ditch.  After a few minutes he began to backtrack, because there were no "good ones" left to throw.  I was kicking at the bank loosening up chunks for him to throw, and we both watched as he launched them and they crashed through the branches.  He was so happy.  So content to be throwing snowballs.  In that moment, I looked back at where I had been so far that day.  How I awoke thinking only of myself, and then gently reminded to spend a few extra minutes giving my middle child what she loved best.  How I crawled back into bed and instead of allowing frustration that I couldn't sleep sink deep into my bones, I was rejuvenated by a baby's smile and a familiar melody.  In that moment of watching my son throw snowballs, I was reminded again that it isn't about me.  Why does becoming a mother steal away that childlike wonder?  Why does being a grown up mean snow is only cold?  Thats it- just coldness.  Not a medium for the coolest fort on the block.  Why must we always hurry hurry?

I pulled out my phone and captured on video how he threw his entire body to loosening a chunk of snow, only to throw it down the ditch, and I was reminded that yes- I am guilty of being selfish.  Emptying myself is a daily discipline, not a one time task.  But at the same time, I was also grateful- so extremely grateful that I had three moments already that day where time seemed to stand still and I could recognize the worth of those moments.  Where I was able to pour into a tired body before the bus swept her away for a busy day.  Where I was able to lay in bed and feel my pains melt, see this baby thrive.  Where I was able to kick at the snow and realize my agenda HAS to allow more of these moments.  If I had taken him by the hand, and pulled him through the intersection, I would not have had that moment to observe his wonder, and to truly receive the blessing of allowing more love, more margin and less of me.