" . . . We must have the
stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
. . .
We must admit there will be music in spite of everything. . . ."
(A few lines from the poem “A Brief for the Defense”)
I love the idea that we must occasionally be stubborn and determined when it comes to accepting joy. That we must hold to it fiercely and admit that even in the darkest times, there truly will still be music to cling to.
Unrelated. Or, perhaps perfectly related:
Anders, at four, has likely lived past his days of any true toddlerhood. I can never quite get over the fact that in all of FOREVER these little humans of mine will exist only once – for such a tiny speck of time -- as the baby or two year old version of themselves; and that it’s only in my mind that those bits of them will continue to exist. And yet . . . they are such huge parts of them. And of me. While I do have my own personal thoughts that keep developing strength on how all these parts of our lives will be . . . clearly there. Clearly a part of us. Forever. (Only temporarily obscured by weak mortal memory.) They are more feeling – part hope and part surety – than words. (The idea was expressed somewhat in this post.)
So, for now: some last remnants of his toddlerhood:
He recently saw a dog that looked just like a “woof”. (That would be wolf). And, when I send him off to his room for a little “quiet time” around noon, he asks if he can have a “sroot snack” to take with him.
The other day he announced, “Mom, I’m ginna draw an alligator.” And then, as he began drawing lots of things poking off of an oval, he continued, “And alligators have tons of legs.” Then, a pause, and, in a tone that seemed to suggest he was as surprised as anyone he added, “Even on their heads.”
On Sunday, he was snuggled up next to me on the couch, when suddenly he lifted his head and said, “Mom! I can hear your heart pa-pumming!” I love “pa-pumming”.
Enough of that. A few more pictures. And this:
My kids can oft times be found, for want of anything better to do, playing, “Would you rather.” I tried to join in the other day with a “Would you rather shoot lasers out of your eyes or have pointy metal teeth?” But I was mocked out of the game. Apparently “pointy metal teeth” was far beneath their creativity standards. They just kept shaking their heads and chuckling to each other, “Pointy metal teeth. Oh mom.” Pointy metal teeth are so yesterday. I guess like . . . everyone has pointy metal teeth.