A few weeks ago...I watched him whittle wood.
From the living room - I leaned over the back of the couch and stared at this first boy of mine... chiseling tree.
This child who introduced me to mothering - he was fashioning tools for his boy trade.
He was sitting on the edge of a red plastic porch chair, Swiss Army knife in hand - shaving a stick into an arrow.
What he was doing to the wood....I'm attempting to do with him.
A mother - she shapes and trims and etches and engraves her young, yes?
Being purposed in this endeavor is of paramount importance.
The influence of a mama on her young bucks is a lasting one.
God help me!
It's been 9 years.....today.
9 years ago, all near a faint from long labor - I held that baby of mine and felt so proud of the thing....already.
He is creative.
His bedroom walls are all adorned with homemade art and images made from recycled household items.
He touches the keys of a piano - and melody pours forth.
He puts pencil to paper and draws me pictures that inspire.
He picks on his younger siblings, while simultaneously loving them well.
He throws a football and finds joy.
The outdoors, nature, open air - they are his haven.
Dirt, the growing of things, the cultivating of garden matter - he's a sound farmer, even here in this concrete suburbia.
Insects of all variety find a home in his gentle hand... always putting an almost dried out worm back into a puddle, and always carrying around an amphibian or two.
But most importantly....
He encourages me to notice.
I can't count how many times he has told me to...
He points me to things that give light and life - and I need that.
But perhaps....he needs me to?
While the piano and the pencil and the outside pleasures all tell me he is finding niches and growing into goodness...
There are other things that Mama needs to whittle.
He is halfway to adulthood now - and the trim and prune, the plant and water... is especially necessary in these years.
Yes, yes God help me to fashion him into a mighty, mighty tool.
Today - we celebrate.
We open up the day - remembering the moment he entered our world, and pondering all that he brings to it - and we give grateful thanks.
Happy Birthday, Boy.
Your Mama is wild for you.
And she always will be.
I better make my way to the kitchen, friends.
I have a carrot cake to mix and bake.
I hear that new 9 year old of mine - ready for the festive reveling to begin.