Sunrise: 8:07 am. Sunset: 8:11 pm.
We may still have three feet of snow on the ground, but the days are finally growing longer. The sun no longer teases us by merely rising above the horizon for a few hours, instead it graces us with over twelve hours of light. I can close my eyes and face the sun and believe, now, that spring will actually come. That underneath our two-story snow piles, deep within the frozen ground, tubers and bulbs begin their reach for the light. They have been well-insulated from the sub-zero temperatures, the coldest January on record, and will soon reward us with their colorful charms. Not today. Not even next month. But come May, the Crocuses will be the first to emerge. And I'll be here, ready to admire every last one.
It is often the little things that take my breath away. Or bring tears to my eyes. Small moments that others may not notice but I wish I could capture and frame on my bedroom wall; so when my mind spins in worrisome ruts, I can pull my gaze to these pictures and let go.
The other night we had dinner with friends up in Bear Valley, with views of the Chugach and the city lights below. When it was time to leave, Elias reached out to give two-year-old Canyon a hug. He wrapped his strong arms around Canyon's head and gave an appropriate amount of pressure for a toddler embrace. "Bye Canyon!" Elias said.
And I know it sounds ordinary, but for my son this is anything but. In the past we have had to carry Elias out of their house as he tried to squeeze my face. He has crawled after Canyon trying to knock him over with his head. We have spent entire evenings on Elias Duty unable to complete conversations with friends. And when he does give hugs to little people, he usually over does it, unintentionally hurting them with his lack of muscle control and body awareness. Not this time. Not this night.
As we drove home, I looked up at Venus and Jupiter, brighter than all the other stars, and instead of wondering what could be, as I'd been doing for days, I found myself smiling, not even thinking about making a wish.
Love this. Thank you for sharing.
Posted by: Ginny | 03/19/2012 at 03:45 AM
So wonderful. Tincture of time and lots of support and modeling can do wonders. Sounds like it already has. That sounds like the best hug ever given.
Posted by: Niksmom | 03/19/2012 at 04:32 AM
Oh, lovely. I've been noticing those two extra bright stars in the sky lately, too. xo
Posted by: Lindsey | 03/19/2012 at 04:43 AM
A perfectly calibrated hug. What a fantastic gift to Canyon...and to everyone who loves Elias and hopes he will learn to demonstrate his love so that it will be accepted. Way to go!!
Posted by: danielle in zurich | 03/19/2012 at 05:35 AM
what a great moment and it IS a big deal! When you are accustomed to bracing yourself for those rough moments and for once it doesn't come, you get a glimpse of how it is for others and perhaps will be in your not too distant future. Those teaching moments are working so don't stop doing what you are doing!
Posted by: fleming | 03/19/2012 at 06:10 AM
More light. Exactly right and how in the depths of winter it seems like it will never come and then inevitably it does. Always good to remember to take a moment to honor it because it is the little things that are the big deal.
Posted by: Kate | 03/19/2012 at 12:44 PM
Over the break Elias actually had three social evenings involving small children where I never had to intervene beyond what is to be expected. And yesterday he said three unprompted "thank you's". And sure, he had a major melt-down that involved hitting and screaming and grunting on Sunday night but that was just with his family and I think all of us feel the need to unload after a lot of social time, we've just learned more appropriate ways of doing so. And Fleming you nailed it, it gives me hope that just maybe things won't always be so hard. That the light really will find us after all. Thanks all for responding:)
Posted by: Christy | 03/19/2012 at 09:21 PM
That's my boy Brooke:)
Posted by: Christy | 03/21/2012 at 06:05 AM