2 months ago
Touch the Sky
How can a park not have a bench to sit on? My kids wanted to try the "new" park today that we've driven by a gazillion times and saw it built one slide at a time. The park is all finished, but where in the heck are the benches? I'm not really expected to stand there, am I? I mean, taking the kids to the park is really a break for me. I want to sit on the bench, check my email on my iPhone or read a few pages in Pride and Prejudice. Really, what were they thinking not putting in a bench at the park? No wonder we were the only ones there.
Looking around appalled at the situation, and realizing there wasn't any grass to sit down on either, my eyes suddenly fixed on the two swings. Well, I could sit on a swing, I suppose. My girls were busily running up and down the play equipment surveying the new features as I made myself comfortable on a swing. This isn't too bad, I thought. Then I had an idea.
What if I started swinging? I used to love to swing. My daughter just last night told me her favorite part of first grade was recess swinging. She says she closes her eyes and pretends she's flying with a unicorn. I used to close my eyes too and pretend I could touch the sky. I wonder if I could do it now.
I closed my eyes and start to pump my legs. My tummy actually started tickling. I chuckled. My girls immediately caught me swinging and called for me from the top of a slide. "What are you doing?," they shouted amused. I didn't really know. Perhaps I was just swinging. Maybe I was going to touch the sky. Or what if something inside of me that has been buried for so long was about to come alive again? I felt something extraordinary in something so small as swinging. I felt alive indeed -- like I was a little child feeling life all around.
Did I touch the sky? Absolutely. Just as I did when I was six. Then my three-year old started to scream about a piece of bark stuck in her shoe and I was ripped back into motherhood. It was all short lived, but blissful. I don't want to sit on the bench anymore. Just let me touch the sky a little more often.
Looking around appalled at the situation, and realizing there wasn't any grass to sit down on either, my eyes suddenly fixed on the two swings. Well, I could sit on a swing, I suppose. My girls were busily running up and down the play equipment surveying the new features as I made myself comfortable on a swing. This isn't too bad, I thought. Then I had an idea.
What if I started swinging? I used to love to swing. My daughter just last night told me her favorite part of first grade was recess swinging. She says she closes her eyes and pretends she's flying with a unicorn. I used to close my eyes too and pretend I could touch the sky. I wonder if I could do it now.
I closed my eyes and start to pump my legs. My tummy actually started tickling. I chuckled. My girls immediately caught me swinging and called for me from the top of a slide. "What are you doing?," they shouted amused. I didn't really know. Perhaps I was just swinging. Maybe I was going to touch the sky. Or what if something inside of me that has been buried for so long was about to come alive again? I felt something extraordinary in something so small as swinging. I felt alive indeed -- like I was a little child feeling life all around.
Did I touch the sky? Absolutely. Just as I did when I was six. Then my three-year old started to scream about a piece of bark stuck in her shoe and I was ripped back into motherhood. It was all short lived, but blissful. I don't want to sit on the bench anymore. Just let me touch the sky a little more often.
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101 daybook
