Taking your time is of the essence

Sam: Age 3

Mom just finished a favorite: A Wrinkle in Time. "It's a bus book," she says. One that can be picked up and put down in 20-minute increments: a mini-escape whilst en route between the office and the home. I find it amusing that Mom speaks of this award-winning novel with such flippancy -- as if exploring such universal truths as good versus evil, time, space and unconditional love -- could be internalized in the same manner as a quick dip in the pool, or a quick spin around the block. Despite the methods of Mom's novel-reading as of late, I'm here to tell you that Sam and I are beginning our own foray into understanding this concept of time.

Yesternight. After when we. A long-long day ago. Next time. Tomorrow after work. In the morning time. When the sun goes to bed. In three more sleeps. These are just some of the ways that Sam and I verbalize the chronology of our toddler adventures. Most of the time, it works. Mom and Dad seem to know what we mean, anyway.

Ken & Sam: Fall

Now, I recognize that my four years (and Sam's three) may prohibit me (us) from really getting this right, but I do have to wonder: At what point do we begin to orient ourselves in such a way that time sets our priorities for us? Instead of measuring my plans and behaviors by Tuesdays, lunch hours and calendar appointments, I would rather continue my and Sam's approach to determining what needs to be done and when. For example:

• Any super-important event that is said to happen in the future, is measured by number of sleeps. (i.e. We go to Grandma's house in three more sleeps.)
• Any past event that has made a positive impression on one's character development is described as happening a long-long day ago. (i.e. Remember, a long-long day ago, when we went to Erin and Matt's farm?)
• Any event that is deemed important enough to do, but can't immediately be accomplished due to the more-important task at hand, can be assigned after when we...then. (i.e. After when we eat this cookie, then we'll take a nap.)
• And lastly, any event that is important to repeat, but can't be committed to with any specifics, can be prioritized as next time. (i.e. We will share better next time.)

Ken: Artist Extraordinaire

Time. A long-long day ago, Mom said to Dad, "We can't beat it, and the more we try to measure and maximize it, the faster it seems to fly." The good news is that we all have priorities to set, and we can welcome the challenge of keeping our priorities in check. This way, our past, present and future can fold together into a bouquet of existence that each of us can be proud to carry, no matter what the time.

Until next time, 

Ken

How I want to be in that number the stars

Us: Five years married

Ken's mom here -- needing to pen a few thoughts on this weekend of all saints and all souls. It's a weekend that has become a mosaic of milestones to me, and so, I take a moment (to temporarily hoard eldest-son Ken's space in the blog-o-sphere) to recognize the delicate balance that life strives to bring.

Eleven years ago this weekend, I lost -- many of us lost -- Kate. Grief has a funny way of sneaking up on its tip-toes.  Time passes, you begin to reconcile. Then, a song, a memory, a scent, passes by, and you're consumed -- if just for a moment -- by the Unreasonable. Swung by the tail -- if just for a moment -- and reminded of the depth of your loneliness for this person, for what more you should have done, for what might have been, could have been.

Sam: Age 3

Lord help each of us as we embrace life according to You. Every year on this weekend, I find myself grieving her loss, celebrating her life, and recognizing the incessant ways she continues to gently shape the moments of my presence here. Because,

• Eleven years ago this weekend, we met Kate's newborn son.
• Seven years ago this weekend, I fell in love (officially). 
• Six years ago this weekend, I said yes. 
• Five years ago this weekend, I married my Adam. 
• Three years ago this weekend, my Sam was born.

Kate

And every year, this weekend, I kiss my husband, I hug my son, and I am struck with the overwhelming sense that balance exists -- no matter how delicate. For, with every loss, there is a lesson. With every lesson there is a learning. With every learning, there is choice. And, with every choice, there is a chance for better than before.

We've all feared, loved, lost. On this weekend of all saints and all souls, remember that we're not in this alone. Life is ours for the living, and it's all worth fighting for.


Happy weekend,
mbc