Toddler Zen

So much is clouded by stress. It's times like this when I remember how fabulous and stress-free my everyday life is. "Everyday life" being life without a major change or transition on the horizon or in the foreground. Wait...is this ever my reality? Perhaps not, but I feel the camel hump at the top of the back and the fog behind the eyes more so now than at most times in my life.

As I've mentioned, the house is in that temporary, unsettled state of 'what might be' or 'what was.' When you can't find a pen or locate your taxes. When, your doctors' bills might be filed with your graduate school papers.

And despite the fact I am bumping into boxes in the kitchen and crossing off number thirty-three on my before-you-move-to-do-list, somehow my little son's world seems pretty much unchanged. I'll catch sight of his little blond head at the end of the kitchen isle, around the coffee table, in front of the window. What is he doing while all of this goes on? He's rambling on about something; he is humming; he is "talking" to Sky, my cat; he is picking up small balls and finding them new homes, such as the cap to a baby bottle or an empty shoe box.

In short, he's going about his life, like nothing has really changed. And, when I notice this, I smile (at least internally) at the miraculous being beneath my feet, reminding me how relative life is. My fourteen month-old is teaching me the art of Zen. That despite the craziness, there is a small world waiting to be experienced. Like the smell of dish soap, the texture of oatmeal, the crinkly feel of newspaper as I wrap yet another coffee mug (how many of these can one person own? Do I drink that much coffee?).

As I write this, I feel the chair underneath me and hear the ambient music I've put on while taking a moment to be with you. Thanks for the pep talk. Let's chat again soon. You really help keep me sane.