how's that for flowing chaos...
Without a doubt a lovely day was had by all at the park- we seem to do best when I hope for the best and expect nothing at all. I {worry} after a good day at the park that the next will bring extra misery from the high expectations we all seem to carry on about. Is the key word there {worry}? Too harsh of a word choice? {Wonder}? How about- I {wonder} after a good day at the park if the next time will bring equal or greater joy? It certainly feels better. Why is it harder to remain detached after a particularly good experience? Something about wanting that good experience again, pushing away the bad? Fearing the bad. Yes. Because let's face it- the bad can be so bad and even worse after the good.
Maybe the pessimists have the secret after all. Samuel- who by the way I would not label as a pessimist so much as a critical thinker- had some wisdom about this the other day in the car (the car and just-before-bed so often being the keepers of wisdom around here). He said it was *so much better* (his words) to expect that something bad would happen and then feel really happy when it didn't than to wish for something good to happen and be disappointed if it didn't.
And what I think- at least lately- after my recent experiments with letting the chaos flow (there are those words again) is that regardless of what happens, it all has a flow and all we need to do is allow it. And it certainly doesn't hurt to hope for the best and expect nothing at all.
I went to the park without a camera- again- and thought about all of the shots I would have taken if...
Eva spinning with my grandma's pink table cloth I took as a park blanket
and using the same cloth as hair to fall down the sides of the play structure as she played Rapunzel
and Samuel playing his first game of kick ball
and practicing getting on and off the merry-go-round (which he learned to do 2 weeks ago for the first time ever at another park day and which, when I saw it happen that first time, brought tears to my eyes over my boy reaching out, continuing to reach out, no matter what, when given the time and support to do so...)
and Samuel laughing and laughing at silly boy talk
and Eva laying down on her belly with another girl while I spun them around and around on the merry-go-round with their hair touching the ground and noticing all that was under the merry-go-round
and just now both kids checking the freezer every five minutes to see if the otter pops had frozen yet? what price for corn syrup and food dyes to become flavored ice? in the freezer...
smiles and pink faces and smooth talk and connection between brothers and sisters. Or bickering and more checking and frustration. And anger with the otter pops for taking so long...
and resisting the urge to lecture over being happy for having the otter pops in the first place (oh but that's me).
and this is more about gratitude now
with cats sitting and purring on laps
while I write this
and guinea pigs jumping around eyeing lettuces
and children playing now that bedtime feels nearer
and testing more otter pops
wondering when they will stop
and finishing up these thoughts to go read more Alice
which as it turns out is much better to read than to watch.
And noticing now, again, that the flow comes when you allow it...
I love this quote from Nine Kinds of Naked by Tony Vigorito-
"You are a molecule of water, but you are drenched in the ocean. Realize this and you become the ocean"
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