Mom love. Being held. Being fed. Giving and receiving lessons.
Transfer from child to servant, and whether mothering a child, or mothering humanity, by partaking, and participating, counts.
Today, one of my children is home, no preschool today, and the other is home, ill and down a peg. Puny-fied.
I too, am puny-fied today. This round of the illness has caught me, barely, by the ankle as I was about to breakaway.
Time for rest. Holding. Feeding.
I made the plates, and the photo doesn’t show the bread, with eggs from our hens in the center—egg in the middle, popeyes, there are other names.
My oldest came for the plates first. I asked her to serve her brother, as her guest. “We give the most beautiful, best plate to the guest.” She didn’t protest.
“Humans are natural survivors. We will take the best plate. We have to practice our generosity. It’s like a muscle.” She didn’t protest.
They sat, smiled, and ate. One peaceful moment, in one real family.
I have become the servant, surrendering the role of child here, and with it, new gifts arrive. Today, I open the gift of these carefully crafted moments, made from that which already lay all around me.
