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Seasons

I want you to know that as this season of your life passes, it’s a season of my life too.

We are each other’s filters through which the world makes sense. I am your mother, you are my child. We see each other at different angles, I look down, you look up.  I see danger, you see adventure. I see hurt, you see hope. I see the falling light between the trees in a forest and want to pause for a photograph. You see a hollowed out tree stump filled with mushrooms and moss and want to make woodland soup for the forest animals.

I see you as limitless potential in need of protection and guidance. You see me as the gatekeeper to snacks or fun, and the person who makes you clean your room or asks you for just ten minutes of quiet.

And together, we see the world as we direct one another. On a nature hike, I point to the signs and we read together the Latin names of plants, we read about how glaciers form and how rocks move and shift to their places on the earth. You beg me to look, look, look, at the sparkle of dew on a leaf, at a shining speck on a stone that just might be treasure, if only you could pluck it free.

I am hurry up and go! You are slow down and wait.

Our strides are different, the places we want to pause and ponder are different, but every so often, our hands meet and we walk together.

We are all on the same trail, after all.

Still, nine nights out of ten, I will fall asleep wishing I had spent more time being slow, with you.

Nine nights out of ten, I will wonder just how important all the work I squeezed into the hours I was given, truly is. Or if, maybe, sitting on a swing and swatting at bugs around my legs while watching you dance back and forth across the grass might have been time better spent.

And though I know the answer, I rarely get it right.

I want you to know that as this (hopeful, adventurous, fearless) season of your life passes, it’s a (busy, work-filled and worrisome) season of my life too.

And there’s no one I would rather share it with, than you.

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