i love that moment

Several weeks ago, Beth posted a YouCapture challenge with the theme of “A Moment”.  Participants were to capture the theme visually, and link their images to share.  I wanted to participate.  I really did.  But, alas, crazy-town has come to stay in my life and I couldn’t get within a mile of a spare moment.

In the weeks since, while I’m chasing kids, cleaning dishes, working, breaking up fights and taking accelerated showers, I haven’t been able to get the thought of my “moment” out of my mind.

It’s my favorite mental image these days, this moment that I love.

It’s one that comes infrequently, subtle and hesitant.  It can’t be predicted and disappears as quickly as it appears.

I can’t capture it on film; that would surely make it vanish.  But I can tell you what it looks like.

the moment

It usually comes in the dark of night.  All is beginning to still.  The constant roar is subdued to a dull, sporadic rush of air.  Quiet begins to invade our home and sleep is inching its way toward the boys.

We’ve completed our nightly ritual of reading bedtime stories in the dark with our headlamps lighting the words.  We’ve prayed for angels to surround the boys to protect them and bring safety.  Then, I’m making my way from bed to bed giving each a hug, and whispering in their ears how much I love them and how proud I am of them.

Lastly, I get to MacGyver’s bed.  Every fiber in his being shoves me away, demands distance, and denies the idea that I could ever be a real “mom” to him.  I do believe he likes me at times, but his fear of rejection consistently pushes me aside physically and emotionally.

Quietly, when I least expect it, the moment happens.

In the dark, as I’m leaning in, or whispering to his brothers, or straightening his blankets,  I feel him reach out to find me.

His touch is shy and tentative as his rough fingers find my hand and slowly squeeze.  It only lasts about three seconds, and then it’s gone like a mirage.

In that slight, fleeting moment, I know we’ve connected.  I forget the yelling earlier in the day, the fear of failing these boys lessens, and I briefly exhale and think, Maybe I can do this parent thing.  Just maybe.

I wish they would come more frequent; and one day, perhaps they won’t be afraid of the light.

Until then, I’ll wait patiently in the dark for those bedtime encounters, when we are mom and son; if only a moment.