Movement

Our house is energized, as if some magical electrical current runs through it that zaps only those under five. There is so much movement, every minute of every day. Or, at least it feels like that, especially when I’m right in the middle of it. I try to drink my coffee but consider how much better “bottled toddler hype” would do to perk me up.

We bought a house with a fairly open floor plan with the exception of a wall that sits right between our living room and our kitchen, creating two openings on either side. I knew it would be a hit with the kids. I knew I would eventually come to curse it. They run around and around and around that wall, in a giant circle from the kitchen to the dining room to the living room and to the kitchen again, until one of them falls or one of them stops or one of them crashes into the other.

Cameron started walking at 9 months, but even before he walked, he would beg me to chase him while he crawled away down the hall. It took Gavin longer to learn to walk and he didn’t even really crawl before his first steps. But, once he found his balance and steadied his feet, he was running. You have to learn to adapt and keep up when you’re the brother of a three year old; a very fast three-year-old.

This is the part of having two kids that is really cool. I watch them create their own rhythm together – sometimes in sync and sometimes, most definitely not. It is usually loud and boisterous, but to their Mom, it is beautiful. Their relationship together is so entirely unique and special, even for two people so new to this world. The way they choose to create fun constantly encourages me to consider the way I perceive my daily life.

This is the part of having two kids that is really exhausting. The constant running and jumping and noise everywhere all of the time is so… much. JUST STOP. JUST SIT. JUST BE QUIET… for one minute… please… so I can just sit. So I can just be.

Motherhood sits precariously between total heart explosion and total mental breakdown.

I count down the minutes until bedtime, when I know there is hope (but not a promise) of slowing down. I say “goodnight” while aching to escape their bedroom so that I can bask in space and calmness.

Except they call me back. “Mama!” “Mommy!” They ask me to lay with them. They tell me that they don’t want to sleep alone. They need more kisses. More hugs. Big bear kisses, to be exact. I’m liked, they assure me. I’m loved, they tell me. We talk about heaven and what it will be like and how they will find me there. We do this all through stillness, wrapped in each other’s arms with our head sharing a favourite pillow. We decompress from the movements of the day and our hearts move closer to one another.

I kiss foreheads and lips and say “Night-night” and stand at the door and fill the room with foo kisses. I reluctantly leave as their eyelids gently move downwards.

Through The Lens Thursday is a self-improvement photography project that Alison and Greta are doing, and that I am piggy backing on, when I can… as you can tell… because this post is nearly a week late.