The other day, he noticed it was a cloudless day. That's pretty rare for our current location and season, and he took full advantage of our week off of home school.
"Mom, let's fly my kite! It's so nice out!"he asked.
How could I say no to that? Well, easily. I had been in a bad mood since roughly 6:07AM that morning, and even their voices were like crows cawing to my tired head. We needed to get out.
Life's funny. You move somewhere to be closer to the nature that you love so dearly, and then you realize, you haven't even seen it for some time. When you see the ocean, the mountains quite clear in the distance, you realize, what the heck was so important that we missed out on this?
The rock he's standing on doesn't look nearly as ominous as it is in real life. When he told me he wanted to perch up there to start the kite off with a bit more wind, I was hesitant.
"Dad lets me do this all the time, " he shouted down, "you don't have to worry!"
There's probably some truth to that. Dad knows the kid needs a bit more adventure than I give him on a day to day basis. So I relax, and just clench my jaw, instead.
After the kite and it's tail were untangled from the string, he knew just how to wait for a 'wind current' and then let er' rip. It really was a perfect day for flying a kite. A little childhood dream fulfilled. A bad mood (mostly) dissipated. Fresh air in our lungs for a few hours.
Play. Magic. Art.
After our time at the beach was over, and our growling stomaches lured us home for a hot lunch, I was reminded how fortunate I am when I say yes. I see my own kids in a new light.
I see him stand taller, with a little joy in his step, as he feels the burst of a good morning and a pride with his kid-work of flying.
I see her, as the little artist* she is, trying to make whatever corner she's inhabiting, beautiful. (If you don't notice, she'll tell you.)
I get the gift of fresh air to my soul, muscles relaxed, an hour of a book read, and satisfaction in our simple life. A story brewing in my head to write down later.
It's all part of the art we make. With our hands, with our communities, with our responses and actions. We will make art.
This post was written as a reflection on a book I'm reading along, "A Million Little Ways" by Emily P. Freeman of Chatting at the Sky.
*pictures of Ani's beach art to come at a later post