In The Middle Of It All

There isn’t really a place to begin or end. There is constant motion. It only changes form or pace.
 If a pause, it is to heal from a wound or recharge from one adventure in preparation for another.
Still becomes difficult. It feels unnatural and forced. Unreal. Impossible. Figit, twist, and stretch. Wiggle. Up. Down. Move here, grab that, water, salt and pepper, a wipe, grab that before it goes in his mouth, falling pencil, rolling ball, running toes towards asphalt, keys for a motorcycle, shoes, a feed bucket, phone charger or snack. That load will sour if I don’t move it now!

In the constant motion a good bit happens in the middle of it all. It is hard to remember what we are in the middle of doing, but it is in the middle of the motion that our greatest moments occur.

In the middle of making dinner, William takes my hand and walks me over to the tower he has made and we build for a long time. Dinner waits.

 In the middle of church, William dumps out the entire bag of pretzels. This wasn't our greatest moment.

In the middle of nausea and throwing up, we rescue a baby squirrel and play memory.

In the middle of swinging William in the swing, a pig escapes. We chase it back into the pen.

In the middle of doing the dishes, a friendly frog stop in for a visit.

Half way to Daddy’s music gig at a nearby marina, a man reels in a giant shark. We stop and wait and watch and cheer and wave goodbye as it disappears back into the depths.

My natural reaction is often to huff and puff at these interruptions. Or raise my voice or blood pressure past anything normal or natural; but when I stop, in the middle of it all, I see such great things happening. 


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