A is for Accountability
I’m driving to fetch Cam. Scott Backseat-Driver Reyburn is strapped into his toddler seat behind me. There’s a traffic circle and another car and I’m not great with following distance and I brake a little hard. Silence. Then soft rebuke: ‘Careful Mom.’
B is for Balance
Cam wants me to play hiking-hiking. This involves imaginary trails and untold dangers and snacks and river crossings on the lawn. I tell him I’ve got varsity assignments to mark. I’ll be around but I won't be able to play much today. He goes all fists and fury and says, ‘You never hardly ever often play with us anymore!’ So we have a conversation about the wooden spoon. He gets polite again. I play hiking-hiking. The marking grows insidiously on the dining room table. Somehow it gets done.
And I’m astonished again by the hefty weight carried by time and focus and non-measurable results and intangible achievements and immediately unconstructive though eternally fruitful activities involving small growing people, on life’s heaped-heavy swaying-precariously scales of balance.
C is for Comfort
I’m in church at the back with Scott who doesn’t want to go to Sunday School and is cavorting wildly. I start crying during the worship because a close friend is really sick. I pull myself sort-of together because I don’t want to be that woman who weeps during worship. My eyes are sort-of dry and Scott climbs into my lap and cups my face in his chubby hands and says with all his soft heart, ‘You feeling calmer now, Mom?’