Flicker
Often I think I learned far more about life and the meaning of life from my children when they were toddlers and preschoolers than I ever did from religion, philosophy, or even my own life experiences (save those as a mom to toddlers and preschoolers).
Young children live in the moment. Everything is new to them, and the world is a giant adventure. They notice all of God’s little creatures (often when you are in a hurry) and they see beauty and the extraordinary in what we consider to be the vast, overwhelming ordinary.
If only we could stay as smart as we were when we were young children….
When my kids were little, a walk around the neighborhood or to the local playground could take hours. Or so it seemed. Until it dawned on me that these excursions were not about the destination but rather the journey. Playing at the playground was all well and good, but getting there was just as exciting and interesting. If not more.
We had to stop and look at every little ant that crossed our path; study spider webs glistening with dew; listen to the bullfrogs croaking down in the drainage pipe; watch a squirrel nibbling on an acorn; follow cracks in the sidewalk; and say hi to each and every doggie and kitty. And Lord help us if we happened to come across any construction vehicles in operation! We might never even make it to the playground.
My sons merrily picked up rocks and sticks and leaves and chestnuts and either shoved them in their pockets, if they happened to have pockets (where I would find them days later when I did the laundry), or gave them to me.
All of the sights and sounds and activity prompted incessant questions, most of which revolved around the word WHY and sprang from the firm belief that I would be able to answer them all. (Parents of current toddlers and preschoolers, take heed! Teenagers ask why [or more likely, why not?] all the time, too, but they don’t think you know ANYTHING. In fact, they are certain that you don’t know anything.)
Although being a full-time, stay-at-home parent to small children is very challenging and exhausting, it is also very rewarding. (You often don’t realize this until years later, but it is true.) Quiet moments spent with a young child who finds awe in just about everything can give you a totally new perspective on life and the world around you.
As grownups we are so busy rushing around all the time -- flitting from Activity A to Activity B, C, D, E, and F; acquiring ever more stuff; and processing emails -- that we forget about both the journey and the moment. It is all about destinations and accumulation and busy work. About being better, richer, faster, thinner, more important, righter, and happier. Instead of just…BEING.
When my children were two and three, we lived in a Virginia suburb of Washington, DC, in an area that only ten years before had been farmland and now harbored housing developments, townhouses, and congested shopping centers. One of our most favorite places to go was a walking trail that traversed a protected wetland just off the highway and between several housing areas. The boys called it the swamp park.
There was a well-worn path and a wooden boardwalk that crossed the marshy areas and pond, so you could take a stroller if you wanted to. The entire trail couldn’t have been more than one-third to one-half mile, tops, but every inch of it was studded with amazing wildlife and oh, such exciting treasures!
Every time we went, we saw different species of wildlife and plants: deer, squirrels, frogs, tadpoles, toads, snakes, fish, dragonflies, cranes, chipmunks, mice, earthworms, centipedes, butterflies, bees, beetles, raccoons, spiders, hawks, Baltimore orioles, wildflowers, trees, cattails, ferns, algae, and lichen. At different times of the day we saw different creatures; a morning stroll was far different from a late afternoon one. And every season was different as well.
Each time we visited the swamp park, it was like exploring a new and different unchartered continent. Each trek brought wonder and excitement to my boys’ faces and elicited endless oohs and aahs and whys.
Not surprisingly, it was as a young mother accompanying my small, purposeful sons on these simple forays that I glimpsed firsthand the meaning of life and of living.
Holding their small, warm, soft hands; following their gazes and pointing fingers; stooping or squatting down with them to examine some minute detail of Nature; listening to the symphony of beeps, tweets, croaks, whistles, swishes, buzzes, and kerplops.
Embracing them as they came towards me with half-wilted dandelions clutched in their pudgy hands, a present, pretty flowers, for Mommy i love you.
Young children live in the moment. Everything is new to them, and the world is a giant adventure. They notice all of God’s little creatures (often when you are in a hurry) and they see beauty and the extraordinary in what we consider to be the vast, overwhelming ordinary.
If only we could stay as smart as we were when we were young children….
When my kids were little, a walk around the neighborhood or to the local playground could take hours. Or so it seemed. Until it dawned on me that these excursions were not about the destination but rather the journey. Playing at the playground was all well and good, but getting there was just as exciting and interesting. If not more.
We had to stop and look at every little ant that crossed our path; study spider webs glistening with dew; listen to the bullfrogs croaking down in the drainage pipe; watch a squirrel nibbling on an acorn; follow cracks in the sidewalk; and say hi to each and every doggie and kitty. And Lord help us if we happened to come across any construction vehicles in operation! We might never even make it to the playground.
My sons merrily picked up rocks and sticks and leaves and chestnuts and either shoved them in their pockets, if they happened to have pockets (where I would find them days later when I did the laundry), or gave them to me.
All of the sights and sounds and activity prompted incessant questions, most of which revolved around the word WHY and sprang from the firm belief that I would be able to answer them all. (Parents of current toddlers and preschoolers, take heed! Teenagers ask why [or more likely, why not?] all the time, too, but they don’t think you know ANYTHING. In fact, they are certain that you don’t know anything.)
Although being a full-time, stay-at-home parent to small children is very challenging and exhausting, it is also very rewarding. (You often don’t realize this until years later, but it is true.) Quiet moments spent with a young child who finds awe in just about everything can give you a totally new perspective on life and the world around you.
As grownups we are so busy rushing around all the time -- flitting from Activity A to Activity B, C, D, E, and F; acquiring ever more stuff; and processing emails -- that we forget about both the journey and the moment. It is all about destinations and accumulation and busy work. About being better, richer, faster, thinner, more important, righter, and happier. Instead of just…BEING.
When my children were two and three, we lived in a Virginia suburb of Washington, DC, in an area that only ten years before had been farmland and now harbored housing developments, townhouses, and congested shopping centers. One of our most favorite places to go was a walking trail that traversed a protected wetland just off the highway and between several housing areas. The boys called it the swamp park.
There was a well-worn path and a wooden boardwalk that crossed the marshy areas and pond, so you could take a stroller if you wanted to. The entire trail couldn’t have been more than one-third to one-half mile, tops, but every inch of it was studded with amazing wildlife and oh, such exciting treasures!
Every time we went, we saw different species of wildlife and plants: deer, squirrels, frogs, tadpoles, toads, snakes, fish, dragonflies, cranes, chipmunks, mice, earthworms, centipedes, butterflies, bees, beetles, raccoons, spiders, hawks, Baltimore orioles, wildflowers, trees, cattails, ferns, algae, and lichen. At different times of the day we saw different creatures; a morning stroll was far different from a late afternoon one. And every season was different as well.
Each time we visited the swamp park, it was like exploring a new and different unchartered continent. Each trek brought wonder and excitement to my boys’ faces and elicited endless oohs and aahs and whys.
Not surprisingly, it was as a young mother accompanying my small, purposeful sons on these simple forays that I glimpsed firsthand the meaning of life and of living.
Holding their small, warm, soft hands; following their gazes and pointing fingers; stooping or squatting down with them to examine some minute detail of Nature; listening to the symphony of beeps, tweets, croaks, whistles, swishes, buzzes, and kerplops.
Embracing them as they came towards me with half-wilted dandelions clutched in their pudgy hands, a present, pretty flowers, for Mommy i love you.
posted by delta at 7:23 PM
5 Comments:
Even better, I get to relive these moments now in the company of a young neighbor. We live on the edge of a forest preserve and several times a week my young friend, her mother, baby brother and I make a foray.
The 9-5 communte reduces the seasons' passing to it's hot-it's cold, it's rainy-it's snowy. But our leisure strolls provide a micro-view of the seasons' impact on the forest residents.
Naturalist Edward O. Wilson used the term "biophilia" to describe his belief that humans are hard-wired to need nature.
btw, Wilson is a beautiful writer, if you ever have the inclination.
I am not familiar with Wilson, but after reading an article about him I think I will definitely check out his writing! Thanks for the suggestion. I really like Annie Dillard's writing. She uses Nature a lot in her explorations of just about everything.
Another good writing in that genre is Diane Ackerman. She opened me up to the importance of Play in the devlopment of humans and other species.
I like Ackerman very much.
and you are clearly a much more patient mother than I can ever be. I probably should not have had children, poor things.
I don't think my children would EVER use the word "patient" to describe me. "Naggy" would probably rank right up there, along with "Hitlerish."
I am just SO demanding.....
I always say I have as much "patience" as an empty hospital. I.e., none, as in "no patients."
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