Gotcha

My heart is drumming out a steady rhythm; so hard against my chest that it aches. But, it's the good kind of ache. Like the feeling you get on the first day of autumn, when the air is crisp and smells vaguely of smoke- like the end and the beginning of something all at once. And I guess that's what transition is, the end and the beginning. I write a lot about ebb and flow, beginning and ending, new chapters, old books... Because life is full of these incredible metamorphoses. We're meant to change immensely. For some of us, we become unrecognizable even to ourselves. People we've spent most of our lives in close contact with may whisper amongst themselves. I never knew she had it in her. I imagine that's what people think of me. I was a wildly emotional, unstable, shy little person just a few odd years ago. Today, I'm wildly happy. I'm stable, even in unstable situations. I'm outgoing when I need to be and calm appropriately. Of course, that little girl is still there. And she comes out sometimes, sometimes welcomed. This is the edge I dangle from; a teeter totter between insecurity and humble confidence. A friend of mine describes me as the "gotcha" type. Meaning, as I understand it, that I'm  quick to adjust to situations. If you call with news that will change the fabrication of the next week of my life, my likely response (although not verbatim) will be gotcha. On the outside I'm calm, reposed, in charge. On the inside, a volcano is erupting. I'm ready to push the big red SURVIVE button and switch into automatic gear. A constant routine gets me through it painlessly, a smile gets me through it happily, and God gets me through it gracefully.

A prime example: I was recently presented with an incredible opportunity to work at a terrific daycare just a short drive from my home. You'll be teaching the two year olds. Cue my "gotcha" attitude; I switch into high gear, put a giant smile on my face and look at all the incredible things these new little pals of mine will teach me. Never mind the fact that I'm so nervous I'm shaking and I wonder what on earth I was thinking. If you had a voice as soft as mine, you'd understand. They don't hear me. But there's a lesson there, even. Speak loudly and clearly, mean what you say, carry through.

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Kade has developed his own little language. He doesn't talk much- quiet like his Mama. But when he does speak, it comes out in long strings of babbles. The one I hear most often sounds remarkably like "scrub a dub dub" repeated over and over. I try to hide my grin when he waddles up, so serious mama? scrubadubadubadubadubpicup? He's trying so hard to communicate, an encouraging reminder that he's learning and that when I push him Kade, use your words, he understands me.

I think I speak his language.

 

 

Breakfast has been a special time at our place these last few days. We're trying to eat healthier, try lots of new foods, spend more time at the table with just us two. After breakfast, if it's nice out, we go out on the patio. I finish my coffee, Kade roams about the yard chasing the cat and "mowing the lawn" with a toy lawn mower. It's such a refreshing way to start our day. It certainly puts us in a good modd and sets the scene for lots of adventure.

 

Another EyeLash picture. I can't help it. Just look at them! 

Notice how the cat is flinching. Poor Parker is picked on. 

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This post is sort of all over the place, a testament that life is never as organized as we think it should be. When the words come, I type them. No more backspace key banging for me, no sir.