Saturday, November 14, 2009

On An Experienced Joy

Bottom line: My kids bring me an unquantifiable amount of joy. Joy, my pastor described recently, understood as a sustained happiness. For me, I ask no questions after a day of battling with Isaac to take a nap or be potty-trained (Only three pairs of pants today!) that a simple gesture or comment or facial reaction can resonate so deeply as to make the whole day seem like it was filled with that singular moment. I don't contemplate why. I analyze everything and I don't analyze that when it happens. Because it fills me with such joy for my son.

It's another thing entirely to understand that your child can do that for others. Today, Lucy made a surprise visit to her aunt's work to see the elderly women she cares for. One of the particular women, well into her 90s, recently suffered several strokes and has been put on hospice. Today had been quite a bad day for her. And so to her came Lucy, all 10lbs of her, wrapped in blankets and jeans and a t-shirt. Both frail, both communicating in simple ways. She held Lucy for 20 minutes. Silently. More than one can count, Dolores pressed her faint lips to Lucy. Watched her. Smiled weakly at her. Lucy reciprocated it in the way babies do. Never took her eyes off of her. Lucy was the first to fall asleep. Dolores soon followed, holding Lucy has tightly and lovingly and joyfully as her old arms would let her.

I heard this story when I returned home tonight. I felt proud. Not of my daughter's ability to comfort and provide a joy for a particular person. She's four months old. She smiles and then toots. But a pride at what exists outside merely parental love. That things can be shared and experienced that truly can sustain us. Great things. Deeply felt things. Musical things like: Love. Joy. Laughter. These are the sustained and suspended chords we experience. Even if and though we know life will resolve itself again tomorrow.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Return From Absenteeism... For The Moment

It's been a long while since I've written anything here. That's a small shame because so much has happened in the interim. Let's see: I've stopped working and am now staying home with the kids; I've been to Florida to visit my brother; I've watched Lucy grow into a magnificent, face-lighting smile and red hair and have been stymied by how Isaac has grown like a weed with opinions; I've watched my fantasy football team go from promising to mediocre to frustrating to Red Sox circa 1993 (seriously, I've been scouring waiver wires for Tim Naehring and Jody Reed and some guys named Billy Joe Robideaux and Carlos Quintana); and made it through the first four seasons of LOST in less than two months -- really, the best show I've seen in a long, long time (Dad, since you're the only one reading this, you should really watch it 'cause you'd watch it like me). So a lot's gone on. Fertile ground for blogging that I've just not done. And maybe won't do again but I've got a small case of writer's block tonight and was looking back over old posts and remembered that, on occasion, this outlet was fun.

One thing I've noticed since I've stopped working is all those things that I thought we're important or, rather, worth my time. Blogs I've stopped reading. Sites on the Internet I've just completely done without. It's funny now, but, clearly those were absolute ways to waste of time while I was at work. Or, maybe more to the point, ways to spend time when I couldn't spend it doing the things I really wanted to do. And the thing I've really wanted to do was be a Dad. And a writer. And a husband. I was those things before, but, now, I've got fewer obfuscations to those goals.

Lucy is a red-head. Beautiful. A smile that literally lights up her face. It's the best joy to be the first one she sees after waking from sleep. She can currently roll-over and has out-grown her clothes which shows me how fast it's all moving.

Isaac can count to 15. He is learning his letters. He can operate the CD, DVD, computer, ice-maker, and our iPhone's flawlessly but can't manage to go the bathroom in the toilet. His prayers are hysterical and challenging and humbling every night-- I know why God is God: it's because of the prayers of children. And he talks to his imaginary friends Dora, Bob the Builder, Boots and Swiper on a daily basis. Oh, and he's scared to death of train whistles.

So I'm here. I'm well. And I'm writing more than ever before, just not here (and I'm not counting Twitter). And that's because I'm inspired more than ever before. Oh, and Frank Gore just scored a touchdown so maybe I'll win my fantasy game this week.