Some weeks seem to be heavy on sounds: Nathan attempts "mama" for the first time (I'm not really sure that's what he meant to say this week, but it was as good an attempt as any); storytelling finds center stage at the dinner table as everyone adds a line to a tale being spun in a round; I stop working to sit and take in the shared laughter of playing siblings. The geese declare their dominion of the neighborhood. Builders create a morning symphony of hammer against wooden plank down the street; while the rumble of school bus tires, a screech of a the metal door, and shouts of children create a song all their own - evening has begun.
Some weeks come wrapped in sound, and others swallow you in action. This week, the wind cajoling leaves to dance and children taking their last warm splashes in pool water - this week is all about action. Movement. And that little spark inside our children that causes them dance when no one, or everyone, is looking. This week, I found myself grabbing my camera time and time again to record the moments of our days. Because, sometimes, there are no words:
Tuesday, Audrey ran outside to check the garden as I was doing dishes. I looked up to find her with a plastic bucket, which she proceeded to fill with water. She stepped in the bucket, then cupped her hands to overflowing and tossed the water out. She dumped the bucket and refilled it twice. She splashed in her self-made puddles and in the bucket until she had covered herself in a shade of damp. Then she freed herself of her waterlogged shirt and danced.
Tuesday afternoon, she asked for chocolate chips. I told her she could have some after finishing her sandwich. As she ate her last bite, I told her I'd go get the chocolate chips. "Thanks," she said, "I believe in you!"
Wednesday, Audrey refused to get dressed until noon. I was trying to dress her in a tee-shirt without buttons. Audrey had suddenly developed a fear of shirts with ribbed collars. I suspect this comes from her locking herself in the bathroom over a month ago. Since that time, she tries to unlock every public bathroom stall or door immediately after I lock it, afraid that we won't be able to get out. As I tried to pull the tee-shirt over her head Wednesday, she wiggled her way out, yelling about being afraid of getting stuck and me not being able to get the shirt off since it has no buttons. Now, every time I dress her in a shirt without buttons, I have to reassure her that I will cut the shirt off of her if I can't get her out.
Wednesday, I wrapped up a gift to mail to a friend to open at her upcoming baby shower. I told Audrey we needed to take it to the post office. Audrey grabbed a piece of paper. "I want to send an 'A' in the mail," she said. And, so she did, taped to the back of my friend's gift.
Yesterday, was Meet the Teacher Night at Audrey's school. We had just finished dinner and were trying to hustle everyone out of the door in an attempt to make it to the last half hour of the event. I strapped Nate into his car seat. I asked Audrey to put on her shoes. She did, on the wrong feet. "They're on the wrong feet," I said.
"I know. But they don't hurt," she said. As I debated whether I should fix her shoes, she ran into the family room and grabbed a tutu crumpled on the floor. "I want to wear this," she said, sliding it over her shorts. And, she did, accessorized by her wrong-footed shoes and more than a pint-sized sense of confidence.
As Nathan attempts to pull himself up against the windowsills and Audrey marches into another year of school, this introduction into September has me focusing on one movement in particular - that which moves us forward. Into a new season, a new school year, new phases, and unseen adventures and blessings to come.