Sunday, September 19, 2004
Six Years Old
Today, you are six
six! Noah! My goodness, you are big!
You make me smile
a perfect blend of mellow and fury, you are
a spitfire and a dove...
inner peace and outward angst
Simply a genius.
You are beautiful.
Today, I think of Noah in an incubator, on a ventilator
on a plane, on the Eiffel Tower, on a horse
in my tummy, on the bus, on a swing
in a stroller, down a slide, dancing on a stage, bouncing on a trampoline
at the piano, at the drum, in Malibu, in Santa Fe...
My little Bohemian
my little boy who loves church
and candles and fireworks-- a pyrotechnic connoisseur.
An appreciator of all things that look like sticks
a pencil in hand, a loaded backpack, and taped up glasses
you are ready for the next thing.
Today, you are six
six! Noah! My goodness, you are big!
You make me smile
a perfect blend of mellow and fury, you are
a spitfire and a dove...
inner peace and outward angst
Simply a genius.
You are beautiful.
Today, I think of Noah in an incubator, on a ventilator
on a plane, on the Eiffel Tower, on a horse
in my tummy, on the bus, on a swing
in a stroller, down a slide, dancing on a stage, bouncing on a trampoline
at the piano, at the drum, in Malibu, in Santa Fe...
My little Bohemian
my little boy who loves church
and candles and fireworks-- a pyrotechnic connoisseur.
An appreciator of all things that look like sticks
a pencil in hand, a loaded backpack, and taped up glasses
you are ready for the next thing.
Andy's Weed Tree
There's a little two year old boy that I know. When everyone else is killing their weeds and ruthlessly pulling back any vegetation that is not wanted, this little boy faithfully waters his little weed tree. He brings his watering can to the back door. He knocks on the back door and says, "Mommy, water... please!" I fill up his little can, and he walks gingerly down the steps to his "garden." He lovingly cares for his little weed tree. I love how he doesn't see a weed but a plant that needs to be loved. I have tried to convince him to water the tomatoes or the flowers, but every time he goes back to his tiny weed tree. It's skinny and about 18 inches tall, but to him it is a stately plant, worthy of attention. I wonder if I could keep it around to show him when he is older. "This is the little weed tree that you have cared for since you were a baby." It would have a little part of him in it. Just as he has a little part of me in him. I wonder why he likes the little weed tree. Is it because it's sort of scraggly and off by itself? Is it because it's taller than the other plants? Is it because I try to get him to take care of the other plants, and he's stubborn? Whatever it is, I would like to be more like him. I would like to have a way of seeing the beauty in tiny forlorn little things. Someday he'll probably have a yard of his own. He will seed it, mow it, water it, maybe even put chemicals on it, with nary a weed tree to be seen. And I will look at his grown up yard and think of when he was two... with his chubby legs... and his dripping watering can... and his "flower"... the little boy who stole my heart and saw beauty where no one else did.
There's a little two year old boy that I know. When everyone else is killing their weeds and ruthlessly pulling back any vegetation that is not wanted, this little boy faithfully waters his little weed tree. He brings his watering can to the back door. He knocks on the back door and says, "Mommy, water... please!" I fill up his little can, and he walks gingerly down the steps to his "garden." He lovingly cares for his little weed tree. I love how he doesn't see a weed but a plant that needs to be loved. I have tried to convince him to water the tomatoes or the flowers, but every time he goes back to his tiny weed tree. It's skinny and about 18 inches tall, but to him it is a stately plant, worthy of attention. I wonder if I could keep it around to show him when he is older. "This is the little weed tree that you have cared for since you were a baby." It would have a little part of him in it. Just as he has a little part of me in him. I wonder why he likes the little weed tree. Is it because it's sort of scraggly and off by itself? Is it because it's taller than the other plants? Is it because I try to get him to take care of the other plants, and he's stubborn? Whatever it is, I would like to be more like him. I would like to have a way of seeing the beauty in tiny forlorn little things. Someday he'll probably have a yard of his own. He will seed it, mow it, water it, maybe even put chemicals on it, with nary a weed tree to be seen. And I will look at his grown up yard and think of when he was two... with his chubby legs... and his dripping watering can... and his "flower"... the little boy who stole my heart and saw beauty where no one else did.
