When rocks are feathers

Texas weather has been blissful lately. Cold, gray, and requiring gloves and a hat. On one of these days I took Hollis to the park where we had the run of the place. It was cold enough to see my breath, but not so cold that I couldn't sit idly by on the swing to watch my dark blond-headed baby run hither and thither.

And so I sat on the black strip of rubber and let my body swing gently back and forth, the bite in the air reddening my cheeks and lifting my spirits. Hollis clamored onto the kiddie playscapes, cautious as ever, but emboldened by new found coordination and strength. He found a piece of dark construction paper, a little hand traced in white chalk with the word "please" on it, and climbed to the top of two steps and let it slide down a big tube. He'd jump down, race around to the bottom of the slide, grab the paper and yell, "Gain!" to himself and do it all again, over and over.

Soon enough, his attention was drawn to a pile of limestone rocks outside of the bark box, beside a giant oak. He first walked a circle around the pile, then gingerly put his hand on one within easy reach. Next, he bent low, butt to the ground, and wrapped his arms around one and stood up. Obvious to only his little brain, he decided to bring me the rock, and run off for rounds 2, 3, 4, and 5.







Oak trees were dark silhouettes against the bright gray sky and Hollis' peals of laughter curled up through their branches and faded away in bursts of toddler zeal. This afternoon felt like balm on my crunchy, aching heart and despite the temperature outside, I felt warm and fuzzy. I had a pile of rocks on my lap pressing me into the swing, but I felt like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound.

"This is what I'm here for," I thought. "To cradle rocks for him." And for all the oddness of that statement I couldn't put it in better words than that. As I struggle with my own issues and feelings of helplessness Hollis has helped to anchor the other half of me, the mothering half, just by virtue of his existence.

I also wondered what other moments might be occurring in that same moment with other parents and children elsewhere, what magic might be connecting two souls? And I'm curious to know what that looked like for them. Was it a quiet moment like mine? Was it more obvious? A carefully scribbled note to mommy like for Maria at Bored Mommy? Or an overall feeling like what Loukia at Loulou's Views often feels when she's with her sons? Or a moment of deep admiration and reflection like Amity at The Noble Savage?

It's a testament to the uniqueness of this life that they come in so many packages, perfectly wrapped just for us and no one else. And so, I have to ask, What have your magical moments been like? What happened? Where were you? And how did it affect you?