Slowing down for a second chance

Last weekend our kids and little people were out for a visit. The sun was shining, a beautiful blue sky overhead and not a breath of wind, it was a good day for a walk in the woods. There is a beautiful trail near our home that winds through the forest. At the point where the trail becomes less inviting, there is a view of a bridge in the distance. It’s a lovely walk, not too challenging for little legs and there is still enough snow on the ground to be able to spot lots of animal tracks.

We started off together, but it didn’t take long before we had separated into a few groups. Our youngest son had wandered ahead with Little One because he is five and he still wants to run everywhere. Running is everything right now. Later, on our second walk of the day, he will tell me that someday he will be in a race and he will run and if he wins he will get a trophy. I smile and say yes, maybe that could happen.

My Sweet and our oldest son walk beside each other. As I watch them ahead of me, I am smiling to myself because I am reminded again of how very alike they are. Their movements are so similar, they are almost like a mirror image. They are probably talking about work, their jobs, the way men do.

My daughter-in-law and I bring up the rear with Little Two. He is three and his legs will not keep up to the long strides of his father and grandpa. Nor does he care to run and keep up with his brother. No, Little Two is content to hold the hand of his mom and grandma and march to his own beat.

Eventually, we all converge at the view point and admire the bridge from our vantage east down the valley. Like all good view points, this one is at the edge of a sharp hillside where the edge drops away dramatically. Littles One and Two are warned to stay back from the edge so they don’t slip and fall. Little One has a look over the edge and is suitably impressed with the distance to the bottom. He has a brief discussion with his father about what would happen if he fell, then he is off again, heading back the way we came to investigate a ramshackle fort made of tree limbs. His Uncle and his mother follow him.

My Sweet and oldest son have seen the bridge many times and less interested, also turn to go. Little Two takes my hand and tugs me back to the edge for another look. His dad calls for him and he tugs my hand again and we start to follow. But the view from the edge, the fascination with the drop off, is magnetic and we make several hand-tugging trips back to the edge before he finally gives in and we begin our wander back to the rest of the family.

He dawdles in the way only a small child can. He wants to stop and look at every rabbit, squirrel, and mouse track we find and there are many. He wants to touch the tops of broken tree stumps and walk along the length of a fallen log. Never letting go of my hand, he walks up a ridge in the snow so he can be up a bit higher. He walks carefully along its edge, occasionally stopping and (never letting go of my hand) jumps down and then climbs back up to repeat the process. He’s having a ball and he is in no rush, no matter how many times his dad turns and urges him to hurry up.

Me? I am in heaven, holding his little hand, remembering (not enough) moments like these with my own sons. And when my son turns again to ask if we are coming, I look at him wistfully and tell him we have nowhere better to be, nowhere to rush to, not one thing to do today that is more important than this. I tell him how I wish so desperately that I had spent more moments like this with him and his brother. This is my second chance you see. This is my moment to see the world around me through the eyes of a little boy again. I don’t care if my laundry doesn’t get done or if the dishes stay in the sink until morning. I don’t care if I run out of time to get the housework done. My priorities have changed and there is nothing more important to me in the world than sharing these moments with my grandsons.

I loved being a mother to my sons, I loved sitting on the floor and playing with lego and sitting on the back steps watching while they plowed their Tonka trucks through the sandbox. But I didn’t know those days only last a heartbeat. If I had understood how quickly that time would pass, I would have taken them on more walks in the woods. I would have slowed my pace, taken shorter steps and let them lead.

But I didn’t know, I didn’t understand, and those days have passed. My grandsons are my second chance. They are my second chance to turn a half hour walk into an afternoon-long adventure. They are my second chance to enjoy the wonder and fascination that little ones have for the world around them.

The boys woke up that morning and when their parents asked them what they wanted to do and their only wish was to come to grandma and grandpa’s house…words cannot express how my heart soared to hear it! They want to spend time with us, to be with us, to take long walks with us and they want to do it now. The days are short and little ones only stay little for a little while. So every opportunity I have, I will be found walking through the woods with my littles, taking in every rabbit track and scanning the sky for a calling raven. I will be examining mysterious bones and throwing stones in the river. I will be doing it gladly, without reservation, because it will pass again, and I am determined to make the most of my second chance.

Please follow and like us: