November closed sweetly, softly.
Raph and I were able to enjoy a day at the park, the sun beaming from a crisp blue canvas, and a brisk wind swirled the leaves around us. It was a beautiful day, a day that reminded me of my own childhood growing up, when autumn meant leaves, and sunshine, and cool air. It was a porthole into the uneasy room of nostalgia, the thing I treat like a beast and hold at bay with a whip and chair. But I focused on my little boy in his red cape and his wild curls billowing in the wind, his warm spirit and our special time together, just he and I.
I love watching him discover, explore, be himself, a marvelous little creature that seems as though birthed from the forest or sprouted from the earth like an uncurling fern, like a wee gnome or, more appropriately, a hobbit.
He found a stick that fit just perfectly in his little hands and clanged it merrily against the mossy rocks, the trees, the crabapples that littered the ground. I thought it added to his magical appearance, like a wand or staff, as he scampered about over the hills and through the pines of the park. It was a day I simply went slow and relished. And found myself feeling so grateful for him in my life, adding such peace and hope and healing. And for Andres, my wonderkid, my sweet, artistic, storyteller. This month we snuggled up after school and before quiet time to read Harry Potter, nestled into a cozy comforter and blueberry tea with honey and lemon, sipping around Hermione and Ron, quidditch matches, and potions class. I'm grateful beyond words for my little men. They're healthy, bright, and lovely souls.
We were able to bring the season inside with painted coffee filter leaves, which Raph and Andres both loved, and we hung them in our window against a wet and cold day outside.
I was astounded at how good they both were with the paint and the effort. These guys are really good artists, and Andres took it upon himself to add venation to his leaves, and folding them, cut intricate patters from them as we do with snowflakes. It's times like these where they create their own masterpieces and I'm amazed at these little men growing up without me able to keep up sometimes. How can it be that I have a 6 and 2 year old? It's a precious life, and one that I celebrate, even when it's hard and lonely work, this parenting thing, I celebrate it and am indescribably thankful for them and my husband.
Because with this autumn as the leaves change and flutter to the rain-soaked ground, our life is undergoing a similar season change. Aaron finally submitted his application to UW and now we wait, to see where God sends us next. Who knows what will bloom in the spring?
So it closed, as all Novembers do, with Thanksgiving. For the past five years we've been sharing this feast with our dear friends, as our four boys played upstairs or in the basement, true as cousins. This year we missed another family and their little boy who are usually a beloved part of the tangle, but it remained a wonderful night with a most delicious vegetarian fare, laughter, and what for me feels like family.
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And I look at it and marvel at the abundance of our life. This is a challenging time, and hard as it may be, as lonely and sad as it sometimes is, I am moved to take stock of the overwhelming gifts in my life, in the life of my family, and friendship, especially now more than ever.
We may not have money, and we may not own property, or have impressive jobs, or all the answers when it comes to parenting, but this I know: these gifts, these blessings, have been given to us, to my family, and although I don't feel deserving, I raise them up and dance among them. They blow around me, and lift me up.
