Monday, July 27, 2009

The Thinker

We spent the moments before bedtime flipping through the 2007 photo album, recounting the first year of baby Wyatt's life. His eyes flashed with fascination as he viewed objects that he'd watched the twins play with over the past nine months. Perhaps the images even triggered a shadowy memory of himself.

At times, he didn't recognize the faces before him even though he sees them each week...I understand why. We've aged quite a bit in the last two years.

This trip down memory lane isn't because I need another excuse to cry over my now toddler-baby or my own more aged face. Instead, I'm trying to reintroduce Wyatt to Grandma Della, whom he'll meet again in a month. He was 8 months old when he last saw her. Sure, he has a good memory, but not that good.

And although Wyatt warms up to strangers fast, the shy 2 1/2 year old in him comes out easily in new settings. So, I'm trying to get him to recognize her in pictures, hoping to take some stress out of the upcoming trip, which is sure to be stressful nonetheless.

One picture caught his eye. It didn't even register with me, but his pudgy little fingers caught the page to turn it back.

"Who's that?"

"That's a statue called 'The Thinker.'"

"What's he thinking?"

"I don't know. What do you think he's thinking?"

"Mulberry bush."

And with that, he very seriously sang "Here we go 'round the mulberry bush" and "All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel."

Then, he paused and recited Winnie the Pooh: "Think, think, think."

We finished the book, as always, with "The End." He skipped off to read his "one last book" with daddy. And I was left to think, think, think myself.

I've done a lot in two years. And yet, I've also done very little. I count the days, weeks, months...writing down on a calendar each "first," snapping hundreds of photos in my attempt to freeze moments for remembrance sake. And as time clicks by, my children keep right on growing, never giving me more than a moment to just enjoy them as they are.

They never just "are"--they're always in the process of "becoming" something else, someone else. Each person's clock starts ticking down from the moment of conception.

Live with abandon. Relish each moment. Sacrifice everything for the sake of Christ.

No more Scarlett O'Hara syndrome.

Just think about it.

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