Gathering

“It is familiarity with life that makes time speed quickly. 

When every day is a step in the unknown, as for children, 

the days are long with gathering of experience . . .” 

― George Gissing

We're deep in warm days of the daylight hours outside in the summertime: backyard picnics, catching bugs in a jar, long swingset conversations. There is excitement over the brightly colored butterflies that land nearby or the tiniest baby bunnies that have taken up residence near the flowers, munching on white clover. The whole outdoors is a treasure hunt in blades of grass and sidewalk cracks, where rocks or leaves become valuables to share.

They are the days of sounding out big words at bedtime, spreading out joke books to tell fifty and understand five, and staying up a little too late to read the story that is too good to put down. One of them will pull Little House in the Big Woods from the shelf and ask me to read at lunchtime. They ask what a phrase means or giggle at a funny chapter.

They play travel bingo in the backseat, shouting when they see a bus or the sign they're hunting for. They ask for quarters to spend on the prizes in the machines at the grocery store. They delight in talking to everyone, about everything, and find topics of conversation easily, like a scraped knee, a favorite animal, or a rainy day.

There are so many questions; some are about how things work, and some, about everything bigger and beyond, like God, or why bad things happen, or what heaven will be like. And the answers come from my heart or from Google, except for the ones where I have to admit, "I don't know, either."

Monkey and Mousey are constant companions, snuggling under their arms every single night, rolled onto or tossed under blankets in the thick darkness, and sometimes get brought along for things like a doctor appointment that is just a little bit scary. They are worn from years of hugs and secrets, real like the Velveteen Rabbit.

Santa Claus still brings presents every Christmas, simple things like an ice cream cone illicit squeals of joy, and spending an afternoon with PaPa is a great delight. A letter in the mail with their name may as well be made of gold. Small arguments over a toy are monumental, and disappointments sink deep. Everything now is large and forever, until it isn't.

My name is still Mama and Mommy, and they don't know that it melts my heart when they say it, or that I'm clinging to it in anticipation of the time it will suddenly turn into just "Mom". My neck is still hugged, my hand still held, my words still needed and believed. His name is Daddy, and his knack for magic tricks, silly jokes, and simple instruction, as well as the uniform he sometimes wears, gives him an almost mythological status. He can fix anything, and usually does, and he is heroic in his every day habits. They tinker in the garage when he does, just to be near him and imitate his every move. He makes everything more fun.

Days are long, but not long enough. Mornings come early, sometimes with the sunrise, because there is much to do, much to talk about, and usually a rush to breakfast or to crawl into mama's bed for a hug. Nights swoop in too quickly, and bedtime foils many plans.

There are moments when I have felt overwhelmed by what is to come, when this baby boy is born and the clock starts all over for us. There will be much joy and much hard work, but woven through it all will be this beautiful season of gathering- moments, experiences, time, and treasures. And Millie and Walter will teach him, becoming their own kind of heroes to his small world.

And for a just little while longer, I will answer to Mama, gathering every sound of it in my heart to hold and pull to my chest in wonder and gratefulness, so many years from now.