Night in June

 "Green was the silence, wet was the light,

the month of June trembled like a butterfly." 

— Pablo Neruda

It's the time of year when Millie's cheeks are dotted with more and more freckles, and the smallest hint of sunburn pink. Walter wants to spend every waking moment outdoors, and shrieks with delight when I mention a walk. The corn is shooting up so quickly, it looks different every time I pass the fields. The country roads are begging to be driven. It smells like warm, fresh air and growing things.

There are a lot of miniature blog posts I want to write, so I'm writing them all here in this jumbled, rambling space. Most of what I write isn't planned. It just spills out when I am overflowing. Seasons changing tends to do that to me.

June is proving to be a difficult month, even though we're only a couple days in. Sky is at WLC for most of it. And Walter turns two at the end of the month. It's starting to sink in how much he's grown, and how little baby there is left. I think I'm much more emotional about this birthday than I was on his first- I can't even type this without crying. It's hard to let that stage go. In another world, perhaps, I would long for another baby. But in this world, there are too many complications, and so that chapter is probably over. That's its own strange kind of grief, and I'm still figuring it out, really.

I have been thinking a lot about my legacy. What I'll leave behind. A lot of people I "know"- like a beautiful woman who wrote here, or our local TV anchor- have passed away in the last few months. It's shaken me up a lot for never even meeting them in person. Maybe because they were so young. Maybe because I'm realizing how scary cancer can be. Or maybe it's just because when someone is gone, I can't help but wonder what it will be like when I'm gone. Both of those people left a community of family and friends who couldn't speak anything bad about them. I cannot picture more than a couple dozen people at my funeral, but I hope they have stories to tell. I want to leave good to remember. I want my heart to always be aware that the seemingly small things are what last.

Since having kids, one thing has become incredibly obvious to me; I am much more old fashioned than most people. I don't mean old fashioned in a cutesy way, like collecting old typewriters (although that sounds nice), but in terms of my values. The way I parent and steer our family life is the opposite of most of my friends and family. The things that matter are different when there are little ones looking up to me, ready to imitate my every move. There is so much pain and confusion our there, and I fiercely try to protect their innocence. Many people spit out the word "sheltering" as if it's a horrible thing, but, to be plain, I absolutely want to shelter my children. Someone once compared raising children to growing a seedling. And that spout needs to be cared for closely, safely, until it can grow strong enough to be outdoors in all the harsh weather. That's how I feel about it.

And life lately? A lot of quiet. A lot of alone time. A lot of coffee. A lot of reading about Harper Lee before her book comes out next month. I think Miss Lee and I would be good friends, but like most introverts, we'd probably never meet because it would mean interacting with another person. So I'll be here in Illinois, and she'll be there in Alabama, and I'll relish every moment of reading her second story.

Tonight, I only see one or two bright, steady stars in the sky. The house is softening in its nightly silence. It's a night that would be good for crying to let out a bit of pressure, but that's what writing is for. Evenings are my favorite, though. I love the hush, the glimpse of the moon, the soft light in the house, and a moment with my thoughts. There is so much to do all day, but the night sweeps in and there is rest, so we have the strength to make it to another June day tomorrow.

And tomorrow, there is much to grow, much to learn, and a lot of coffee to drink.