Skip to main content

Breathing

The house is just beginning to stir. I balance a load of laundry on one hip and tiptoe toward the laundry room. I pass Claire on my way. She is dressed and rummaging in the pantry in search of a pre-breakfast snack. My early morning girl. Lauren, still cozy under her covers, turns the pages of The Indian in the Cupboard. I peek in on her but she doesn't notice. Faith sits up in bed and pushes tangled curls aside. She dangles her legs over the side of the bed and rubs her eyes. The sun pushes through the curtains and makes patches of light on her feet and on the floor.

I pause at the boys' door and scan for dirty laundry. The room is dark. The sun will not make its way to this side of the house until the afternoon. John's stack of midnight reading and his flashlight are in a heap. I pick up a shirt and a pair of shorts and add them to my basket. John and Charlie are sound asleep. John sprawls on his back tangled up in his red fleece blanket. His arms and long legs stretch out. His ribs rise up and down with slow regularity. "He's so thin," I think to myself for the thousandth time. For a moment, I am filled with a familiar ache and worry. It is a fleeting thought. I watch his serene face, eyes closed under long, long lashes, and smile at the menagerie of animals that make bumps under his covers. Sweet innocence.

Charlie's fleece blanket lies crumpled on the floor. His sun browned body is tummy down a few feet away from John. He wears only a pair of Lightning McQueen undies. He breathes deep breaths and sighs softly on the exhale. His little rump and Lightning McQueen rise and fall with each breath. He has pudgy little boy legs and arms and a sturdy frame. I wonder at the difference in the build of my two boys. I watch them for a minute...two minutes...loathe to leave the tenderness that is in this room. Charlie rolls to the side and opens his eyes but he is not awake. A second later, his eyes close again and his hand covers his face. I slip out and give the night owls a little longer to dream. I feel my own gentle breathing as I continue down the hall. Peace.

Comments

ocean mommy said…
Kate,

I love how you weave words together. This post made me tear up! There is just something about sleepy children that warms my heart. (And Lightning McQueen underwear!! That just cracks me up!)

Thank you for the Elizabeth/Mary comment. I had not thought about that, but I totally agree.

Love you all!
stephanie
L.L. Barkat said…
I was right with you the whole time. There's a poignancy, isn't there, in watching our children... knowing they are "other" even while they belong to our family? Beautifully expressed here.

Popular posts from this blog

Artistic Expression and Faith

A few days ago, I came across a post called Of Books and Faith written by Beck at Frog and Toad are Still Friends ( The best blog name EVER to my mind.) She writes about how the Christian market is saturated with mediocre books. How few fiction authors there are who really grapple with the messiness of humanity from a Christian perspective. I agree with her whole-heartedly. The Christian life does not come with the lack of conflict and the happily-ever-after resolutions that I find in many books of this genre. It's funny that I came across that post because I had been thinking similar thoughts about another form of Christian expression. Art. Christian art is often either poorly rendered or is just too pretty. It lacks creativity. It doesn't engage the mind. Remember when I made that long trek to Hobby Lobby for stencil supplies? That was where this idea started to form. I spent a few minutes flipping through posters. Flip. Glowing Jesus in a meadow. Flip. Glowing Jesus surr...

Potholes

We were driving home on the back roads between The Land Flowing With Milk and Honey (where the Wal-Mart is) and Smallville . The Suburban dipped and swayed through the tight curves and potholes. Lots of potholes. Asphalt sprayed the car’s undercarriage. “Tink. Tink. Tink.” The children were oblivious to the dipping and swaying but the noise caught their attention. They looked out the windows. “Hey Mama, didn’t they just fill those potholes two weeks ago? Why did they have to fill them again?” Good question, kids. Instead of hiring the Fix It and Forget It Construction Company , our county employs Larry, Darryl and Darryl to maintain our roads. Larry drives the pickup. Darryl shovels a bit of asphalt off the back and the other Darryl tamps it down into the hole. Week after week they fill the same holes. Week after week our wheels grind away their efforts. Potholes. We all have them. Places in our lives that just can’t seem to stay filled up. Holes that consume great quantities of love ...

This Week

This week, I let a kindergarten kid play with my iPhone to coax him into the tutoring classroom.  I set up a plan for dealing with this ongoing issue and consulted with his mama.  She’s a tough one to get to know, his mama, but I try. This week, I promised two little boys I would pick them up on Friday and take them to my house. This week, on a crazy afternoon, a granny asked me for alcohol and I thought.  I wish!    I could use a swig .  But that's not what she meant.  She was looking for rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide to take care of an injured kid.  A few months ago, we were awkward because we didn't know each other but now the awkwardness is gone and I can’t help but hug her every time I see her. I love that granny.  This week, I dropped off a little girl and shook hands with her father.  His hand was dry, he had a tattoo on his neck and he's just fresh from jail.  He asked how his daughte...