Puddles

One of the things "they" never tell you about having kids, is that that raising children is not a clearly defined relationship of teacher and pupil. I teach my kids things like how to use a toilet and what sounds the letters make, and in exchange they teach me about what matters in life. As exhausting as cleaning up another spilled glass of water is, I believe they have the harder job. How frustrating must it be, to be hurried through all the important things in life? Things like splashing in puddles and watching the worm make it across the path. How much must they ache to slow down and experience life at a speed worth going?

A few weeks ago, the boys and I were walking to the library when we stumbled on someone's bible and notebook.  The book had very little identifiable information, but somehow by the power of the internet, we managed to find the owner (thank you, Facebook.) I'd arranged to meet with the gentleman on our walk back to the library the following week, the day came and it rained. All day. Finally, about half an hour before we were supposed to meet him, the storm seemed to break, and so we chanced a walk instead of driving. Monk typically likes the walk to the library, and I keep Turtle in the carrier, so we frequently skip the stroller. When we leave enough time, about an hour, it's a very pleasant walk, filled with many things to wonder over; bird songs, train engines, and insect activity are a few of our favorites. However, on this day, we did not have enough time and the whole walk was hurried along. By the time the thunderstorms passed, there was time for nothing more than a rushed, well aimed stomp in the puddles as we passed by. 

Finally, just a few minutes late, we met the gentleman and returned his things. and while I was speaking with him, Monk stepped over to the fountain a few feet away. After a moment of conversation, we parted ways and I rejoined my son by the fountain. 

He's always a relatively serious child, but on this particular day, one would easily have believed he held the fate of the universe on his small shoulders as he pondered, deeply engrossed in the falling water. 

"That made me sad." He told me after a moment. 

"I'm sorry, what did?"

"Our walk."

"Why did it make you sad?"

"Because we went too fast to have an adventure." 

"Can't adventures be fast?"

"No. Adventures are seeing and hearing, and sometimes touching. You have to go slow for an adventure."

"What happens if you go on a fast adventure?"

"You miss all the things that make people happy." 

And so we sat, we adventured sitting at a fountain. Seeing, hearing and touching. It started to rain again, we watched the circles falling in the water, and then we walked, very slowly, on to the library. Wouldn't you know that the earth worms were dancing along the edges of the side walk all the way there, just for us.