Around my birthday, Baby A. greeted his Ya-Ya with kisses—wet, open-mouthed smacks to her cheek. He did this to her for nearly five minutes. It was cute and I was a bit jealous. I’m the mommy; I’ve never received kisses. Well, now I do and M gets kissed too.
I could be playing with A. and all of the sudden he’ll look at me and lean in to give me a peek on the lips. Sometimes I get the smacks Ya-Ya got, but the former is more common. His timing is always perfect since he bestows this gift usually after he’s been crazy-active. It’s my reward for keeping up with him. And every time, it melts my heart.
But M and I are not the only receiptents of his affections. He’s taken to trying to give the kitties kisses. They’ll have none of it, so he kisses the air in their direction. Today he gave Cy’s mom kisses after she played with him and we were leaving. I’m thankful that Baby A is so affectionate, as he enters his second year I wonder how long this stage will last.
From the moment I step into the warm stream of water, I’m relaxed. Every pressure, each stress, and all tension leaves my body. The water carries them down the drain. There, in the shower, I rest. (I’m sure that I have nodded off into sleep once or twice while standing there.)
After becoming a mom, this daily task has no longer a definitive part of my day. This simple act of cleaning has taken on new meaning. Before child, my shower was the place where articles took shape, things-to-do lists were composed and ideas popped up. I was in and out. Now, I linger under the hot water. I never want to leave. Its provides a canopy of warmth and quiet that isn’t outside the stall. When it’s time to step out, reality hits as a cold breeze. But without this watery meditation, the world that I face would seem overwhelming.
Grass. Dark green grass. As a kid, I was repelled by it—thousands of tiny blades that made my legs itch. Today I was drawn to it. The neat lush squares of grass lying at the bottom of small waterfalls in Scottsdale’s Canal District were beckoning me.
Baby boy and I sat on the grass, felt it between our fingers and our toes, and inhaled its scent. I forgot how fresh it smells, how smooth each blade feels and how it infuses the air with moisture. Among the concrete and the arid desert, we were sitting on a small patch of another world. This perfect rectangle of lush grass transported us to a place of wonder and peace, where only the two of us existed.
As we walked back to the car, I felt fresh and renewed. Thanks to a little patch of grass.