Cats in the Cradle

I am walking up a gigantic hill with a giant of a man. He's my Dad & I am able to dawdle in his presence. We are going up this enormous place, where sits a barn & some old horses that tower over my small head. Their long thick tongues eat up the apples we've prepared for them. Moments later, maybe days, perhaps years, we sit on my bed, composing our own symphony on my Magical Musical Thing. These moments stand still in my memory. As also, the days we sat for hours at the kitchen table creating noses of playdough. The dough clings to my face, filling my nostrils with that playdough smell and my mind with a security nothing can snatch...

She'd say: I'm gonna be like you, Dad. You know I'm gonna be like you.

I sit at her feet and watch her tenderly nurse my sister. She never scolds me back to bed, but allows me to linger there and just spend the delicate minutes of the night with her. Years later, early in the morning I rise, to climb into a pallet she's created in the back of our Dodge, while the sun still sleeps, yet my own Mother doesn't, to supervise the paper route to make extra money. She continues every morning on warm summer days, to fill our plastic wading pool with water from the hose, so it will warm in the morning sun.

She'd say: I'm gonna be like you, Mom. You know I'm gonna be like you.

Decades later, Roy sits in the car deeply in thought following his small group. His teacher, a man of many years of wisdom (ah-hem, yup, that's my Dad!) has spent the time in Genesis. Roy has been reminded about the importance of our time with our children; the words that pull at him the most are from a song from Harry Chapin, Cat's in the Cradle. Though our goal as a family, as a team, is to promote the family through spending quality time together. We are still reminded and convicted to make this a priority.

Watch me, Mom! she screams from the top of the slide. Within moments, she is toppling down the twisted slide, but not from a sweet trick. Emma has actually fallen and slid down the slide in her Emma-clumsy way. She laughs, even though she has messed up her performance. The next morning, she will stand at the top of the adjacent slide, eager to meet with and play with her new girlfriends. She will topple again, but this time, because the slide is straight, she will tumble quickly to the ground, her face quick to scrape the ground. But this time, instead of laughter, sadness and embarrassment will fill her face. She will cling to my chest for comfort and wait awhile to gain the courage to recover her pride.

She'd say: I'm gonna be like you, Mom. You know I'm gonna be like you.Roy pushes him as high as a high can be, well, at least high enough for ten month old Mr. Squishy Squishyton. He giggles and laughs and enjoys every moment of being probed by his Dad's hands, tickling every bit of his squishy legs. That evening, Will is nursing lazily on my lap. He stops for a moment to say some quiet words to himself. Early in the week, nursing again before bed, he has spied the cat peeking from the window's curtain. I say to him, Cat. Cat. Cat says Meow. with confidence. He repeats Cat in his best 10 month old voice.

He'd say: I'm gonna be like you, Dad. You know I'm gonna be like you.Jack turns two and with his new number has brought a sudden interest in all stereotypical two year old things... He has suddenly become interested in puzzles and is learning to master them quickly. Jack loves trains and can play for moments (indeed this is long for a tornado of his stature) at a time, driving them various places around the house. With his new fascinations, comes a temper that can flare with any sudden frustration. And managing this beast is a new skill. So he spends moments in the corner, sweaty, frustrated, angry. In between the fits he begs for water and to be cuddled. He falls into my arms. He rests his head on my shoulder. Peace, for the moment.

He'd say: I'm gonna be like you, Mom. You know I'm gonna be like you.We sit on the couch, just me & her. I read her Someday. I hide my tears with pauses between her numerous questions. She sits on the couch in silence, staring straight ahead. That's so sad. That is such a sad book she ponders. Why is it sad? I question. Because Auntie says it is... Brilliant little parrot...

Someday I will stand on this porch and watch your arms waving to me until I no longer see you. Someday you will look at this house and wonder how something that feels so big can look so small... Someday, a long time from now, your own hair will grow silver in the sun. And when that day comes, love, you will remember me.How can I commit to memory (again a favorite phrase) these small moments & cling to my blessings' childhood, when, really, I know they will fade just as quickly as they happen... But we live every day with the hopes of knowing that our children will grow, just as I did- they will cling to and remember small priceless times with Roy & I. They may not remember specifics but will grow up knowing they spent their childhood with us, not merely wishing to be with us. And want to be just like Mom and Dad... And when they think on these moments, they will remember us...