Tonight was lovely, cool and sunny. The Mister, The Nugget and I went to the neighborhood park, she on her bike, pedaling away, him walking the dog and me watching, breathing it all in, marveling at how it all goes by so fast.
At the park, The Nugget wanted to swing really high. It's her new thing; she's just coming out of a timid stage, ready to feel again the thrill of flying high, of riding the hip jumping horses on the carousel, of taking deep, thirsty gulps of life. Laughing, I tell her maybe she can touch the plane flying overhead because she is swinging so high. My heart catches in my throat when she proves to me that her bravery really knows no bounds and she lets go with one hand to reach for the plane. "You can touch the plane with your toes!" I call.
On the way home, my mother's mind was hurried. We are racing bed time and I am thinking of all of the tasks that still need to complete to be ready for the day ahead, for work and school and home showings. My daughter is in no hurry, though. She stops to pick up rocks, one for her collection and one for her science class, while I remind her to hustle up. She marvels at big, crunchy sycamore leaves as I urge her to pedal faster.
She stops for fluffy dandelions, wishes to be made. She blows all of the seeds from the first one. "What did you wish for?" I ask.
"My slushy maker, " comes her easy reply. "Mom, Dad, do you want to make a wish?" We thank her, but, mindful of the time, decline. A block later, she stops for another tall stalk. I feel myself pushing her forward with my mind. We can see our house from here. Still, I watch as she blows the seeds from one more dandelion.
Again, I ask, "What did you wish for?"
"I wished for our baby to come down from heaven. I really want her to be here."
Be still, oh hurried mother's heart. Be quiet, rushing mother's mind. Listen to this little girl, who knows that 15 minutes late to bed is so worth the exploration, the wishes, the time.