To remember... (SoLS)

This morning reminded me of one morning...
exactly eleven years ago...
Cool, crisp, and bright; the promise of fall
and the excitement of a new school year swirled around me.
As the sun shone through its cornflower blue backdrop today,
I stumbled wistfully upon a thought; a thought I couldn't reconcile
in the stillness of my routine commute:

No child in my elementary was born yet on September 11, 2001.
Not one.
And, this, this is the first year I can say that.

They won't remember a teacher's expression that day
when hearing the hushed news
for the first time
while still knee-deep in morning routines.

Two planes.  No; three.  No; four.
How many more?
Into buildings?
What's going on?

They won't remember the disbelief
we felt in our hearts
and wore on our faces that day
when our deepest thoughts
diverted from planned lessons
to blurbs of news coverage we could get
from colleagues passing by.

They're going to fall.  They're going to fall...
People have to be left inside those buildings.
What about them?

They won't remember the quietness,
the deafening quietness, that day
When no planes flew
through the once menacing sky
now sleeping like a baby.

A field in Pennsylvania? 
The passengers overtook the flight?
To keep us safe? 
The courage.
What would I have done?

They won't remember how it felt that day
to go home uncertain of the future
Scared to be alone,
Wondering if we'd wake up September 12
Heading to one of the many impromptu church services
brought a comforting mix of solace and community.

Will our town be next?
Will I know something big is about to happen before it does?
Will I be able to say, "I love you..." one last time?

Today, I remember how it felt
as a young kindergarten teacher,
to fight the inner battle of 
being honest while being protective
of those 20 little souls,
too innocent to understand
the gravity,
the terror,
the new world they would know
from this point forward.
A world, to which we adults,
were late arrivals.

Could I answer their questions?
How much news coverage their parents allow?
Could I calm their fears when they were the sum of my own?

This morning reminded me of one morning...
exactly eleven years ago...
Cool, crisp, and bright; the promise of fall
and the excitement of a new school year swirled around me.
As the sun shone through its cornflower blue backdrop today,
I stumbled upon a second thought:
Dear Lord, let these children know peace...
not the splintered version we've recreated the past decade,
but rather the truest type --
the type we knew
before the planes,
before the buildings,
before the field
before the fear.

Amen.
b

Baking Cookies... (SoLS)

I stayed later at school tonight, so when I pulled up into our new driveway...there was one toddler 'mowing' (which means he was riding around in his Little Tikes Cozy Coupe stitching the lawn with straight seams) and one daddy breaking down boxes nearby in the garage.  My heart was overjoyed -- so much productivity.  Where would one tired mommy fit into the equation?

Anyone with kids knows there is a daddy dynamic, in which daddy is always right...daddy is peaceful because he is taking care of any describable situation in his own way...daddy disciplines the way daddy sees fit...and everyone is happy in this daddy-driven nirvana.  Then, of course, there is a mommy dynamic, which is somewhat similar and results in perfect peacefulness.  But then, then, there is the mommy-daddy dynamic, which isn't always as copacetic.  It goes something like this -- Mommy knows Daddy's weakness (for kicks, say impatience), and child craftily exploits Daddy's weakness (again for kicks, say impatience), and Daddy knows his own weakness (you can fill in the blank here), and then before anyone knows it, the seas are churning and no one is happy.  (Please say this sounds familiar.)

D: "I'm ready to grill."
M: "But the rice isn't ready."
D: "Well, we can still put the chicken on."
M: "I guess, but it may be done before the rest of dinner is ready."
C: "I wanna grill.  Daddy, let's go outside.  I wanna grill!!!!"

D: "Fine.  Let's grill." 

A couple minutes later, my wondering eyes peeked out the back door.

M: "How's the chicken coming?"

D: "Well, it's done."

M: "Well, I'm not ready for it."

(Insert whiny, hungry child here followed by impatient, tired husband.)

M: "Reid, why don't you come in.  You can help me bake some delicious chocolate chip cookies before dinner..."  (Argh; did Ijust offer that?  I'm tired.  I don't want any more mess or the mandatory hour-plus commitment this project requires.  And, cookies????  I must be out of my mind.  The doctor just told me last week I'm gaining too much weight during this pregnancy...)

C: "Hooray!  We're making cookies.  Just me and Mommy."

M: "Yes, we are.  Just you and me.  Now let's get out the ingredients and read our recipe to see what we need first..."

And roughly three cookies later, one tired mommy's heart basked in the glow of two guys with chocolate-tipped lips...and all was right with the world again.

Write on,

b