As I sit down to type these words it is raining buckets upon buckets outside. The sound of the rain pelting off the windows is soothing, as is the smell of vanilla and sandalwood wafting my direction from the brightly burning candle in the corner of the living room.
The timer is on depicting how much longer dinner, a vegetable pot pie with a cashew base and a flaky crust, will need to bake in the oven. On the west facing window sill two small dishes sit still, containing the slow growing, quiet life of basil and sage. A small white pumpkin and a miniature orange gourd sit on the north facing window sill.
It’s been a while since I’ve taken the time to sit down and write. Partly due to the busyness of my schedule (we were back at the farm for a good four weeks helping to bring in the harvest – field and garden alike) and partly due to what one would call writer’s block. But, here I am, heart, soul and mind, with nothing special or profound to say except for a simple “hello, it’s been a while.”
I can hear my son in the next room, mumbling softly having just woken up from a good two-hour nap. He’s growing so fast and I’m finding it very bittersweet. On one hand I’d love for him to stay small forever, keeping me in the place of being his whole world. Yet to see him develop is one of the greatest miracles I’ve ever witnessed. True to his name, he is a gift from God.
Matthew’s most recent development is the desire to climb things. He’s a mere eight months in just three days, and he already has such passion and personality. Just this afternoon he had a terrible fit because he couldn’t get from kneeling to standing against the couch. Over and over again he would lift up his one little leg and put as much pressure as he could on it with the intent of getting up, yet over and over again his knee would buckle and he’d find his bum softly hitting the plush carpet. I can already see that he’s not one to give up. He’s stubborn, like someone else I know, a personality trait that I pray will serve him and others well and not for ill.
My favourite part of the day is him waking. Whether singing happily or crying out from hunger or loneliness, I’m always greeted with the biggest grin and bright brown eyes poking through the slats of his white crib. It’s enough to melt my heart, every single time.
That said, the timer has rung and Damien is home and Matthew is crying out to be fed.