20 Minutes
Lately, after getting home from any adventure outside the house, our daughter B likes to "drive." This means that we as parents allow our 22-month-old daughter sit in the front seat, play with the steering wheel, while a parent sits in the passenger seat as a reassurance she doesn't take the vehicle out of park or set the radio as loud as it can go for mom the next morning.
As she crawls from her unbuckled car seat in the back, into the front drivers seat, you see her face light up, like mine in a candy store. The options, switches, things to touch and things that respond back to her by lighting up, all a possibility at her little fingertips now. I am merely present sitting shotgun as she decides what to do first.
She mentions "drive," as a general term, for she barely touches the steering wheel. She does grasp the concept of driving however because she knows mommy and daddy do it. She reminds us of this anytime we go somewhere.
"Drive."
"Mommy drive."
"Daddy drive."
even, "Drive?"
Yes, the last one does have the tone of a question, so you read that correctly.
Well, the funny part is watching her as she explores the front, back, even trunk space while we allow her to do this. She finds little things here and there that her mom and I would have never seen. Most of the "driving" is done in mom's car because, well, in mine she would find a lot of things I didn't know were there or had been there for some time. A sock from years ago for instance.
The simple amazement as she goes from one thing to the next. The curiosity and fulfillment she gets when she presses the trunk button, the beeping starts, and the trunk opens. The disappointment as she presses the gas-tank-button only to hear a click, but not see anything. I try to show her the result, but there is too much disconnect to make sense.
She finds change which she now understands as something valuable to mom and dad, well, the silver pieces, nobody cares about the brown ones. She finds Chapsticks hidden, even some Dramamine in the back from a road trip last year. She finds little toys she may have at one point thrown and became wedged under the seat, she puts them in her mouth for a little taste of nostalgia I am guessing.
"Mmmmm, tastes like last week."
This little girl, her mind, and her level of curiosity, all summed up in measurable delta waves, a release and catch of neurotransmitters, all leading to an external presence and driven curiosity so amusing to watch.
As much as I want to take a picture, another one, another one, post a video online for she is the "cutest thing." I know my experiences my pleasures are not the same. I know because I see other people's kids and I get what they saw, but I do not have that connection.
No, instead I sit, watch, and enjoy the 20-plus-minutes as she and I play in this tiny space (tiny for me, like a jungle gym for her). I can't help but appreciate this moment, this place, for no other time matters. The past is done, and nobody guaranteed me a future, however I am perfectly pleasant in this one moment. Painfully aware that it too shall pass, for not just the situations we "don't" want do. I am aware that even if she does this tomorrow there is a little more experience and a slight bit lacking of excitement for experience and knowledge inhibit innocence and excitement. I know that a week, a month, definitely a year, this "drive" thing will be no more and we will be doing something else. This is what time does, what the brain does, what they have to do to move on.
For any parent it can be difficult to be mindful of the "little moments." We try to capture them in our seal-tight photos, capturing that one moment to reflect on later, but it never quite does. Instead, in trying to take the photo we might have missed the actual moment just a little, no matter how much we believe to be doing the most noble thing.
I know I want to capture this. I want this moment trapped in a jar, like the Yankee Candle scent my daughter took off the vent here in the car. I want to open and smell this moment anytime I want and experience it like we did this time. Like the seasons, I want to annually experience moments from the past reminded to me, but not as a memory, but as the here and now. A memory takes away the unknowing of the future. No matter how much you like a movie, one you know the ending, it changes the experience. We are no longer watching to "see what happens," but instead we are watching for the scene at the present moment, the laughter, or reminder of things we may have forgotten, however we know where this goes.
The moment offers us none of that. The moment, being aware of it's inevitable passing, I believe is what makes it the rarest and most valuable thing thing God can give us. We have but this one moment and all that is left of our time on Earth is simply assumed. The fear of loss or the anticipation for something great all mixed into this one point in time that once recognized is lost. A dish best enjoyed by itself without any side distraction.
My daughter could crawl around here for probably 45 minutes without boredom, if I allowed her to. As her curiosity no longer settled by a mere push of a button or touching the steering wheel, she has now started to press on the horn or throwing cup-holder change about. This moment has passed and we are on to another one, as is the way of life.
 |
| Daddy's car=Lots of treasure |
She mentions "drive," as a general term, for she barely touches the steering wheel. She does grasp the concept of driving however because she knows mommy and daddy do it. She reminds us of this anytime we go somewhere.
"Drive."
"Mommy drive."
"Daddy drive."
even, "Drive?"
Yes, the last one does have the tone of a question, so you read that correctly.
Well, the funny part is watching her as she explores the front, back, even trunk space while we allow her to do this. She finds little things here and there that her mom and I would have never seen. Most of the "driving" is done in mom's car because, well, in mine she would find a lot of things I didn't know were there or had been there for some time. A sock from years ago for instance.
The simple amazement as she goes from one thing to the next. The curiosity and fulfillment she gets when she presses the trunk button, the beeping starts, and the trunk opens. The disappointment as she presses the gas-tank-button only to hear a click, but not see anything. I try to show her the result, but there is too much disconnect to make sense.
She finds change which she now understands as something valuable to mom and dad, well, the silver pieces, nobody cares about the brown ones. She finds Chapsticks hidden, even some Dramamine in the back from a road trip last year. She finds little toys she may have at one point thrown and became wedged under the seat, she puts them in her mouth for a little taste of nostalgia I am guessing.
"Mmmmm, tastes like last week."
This little girl, her mind, and her level of curiosity, all summed up in measurable delta waves, a release and catch of neurotransmitters, all leading to an external presence and driven curiosity so amusing to watch.
As much as I want to take a picture, another one, another one, post a video online for she is the "cutest thing." I know my experiences my pleasures are not the same. I know because I see other people's kids and I get what they saw, but I do not have that connection.
No, instead I sit, watch, and enjoy the 20-plus-minutes as she and I play in this tiny space (tiny for me, like a jungle gym for her). I can't help but appreciate this moment, this place, for no other time matters. The past is done, and nobody guaranteed me a future, however I am perfectly pleasant in this one moment. Painfully aware that it too shall pass, for not just the situations we "don't" want do. I am aware that even if she does this tomorrow there is a little more experience and a slight bit lacking of excitement for experience and knowledge inhibit innocence and excitement. I know that a week, a month, definitely a year, this "drive" thing will be no more and we will be doing something else. This is what time does, what the brain does, what they have to do to move on.
For any parent it can be difficult to be mindful of the "little moments." We try to capture them in our seal-tight photos, capturing that one moment to reflect on later, but it never quite does. Instead, in trying to take the photo we might have missed the actual moment just a little, no matter how much we believe to be doing the most noble thing.
 |
| What you imagine mindfulness to be like. |
The moment offers us none of that. The moment, being aware of it's inevitable passing, I believe is what makes it the rarest and most valuable thing thing God can give us. We have but this one moment and all that is left of our time on Earth is simply assumed. The fear of loss or the anticipation for something great all mixed into this one point in time that once recognized is lost. A dish best enjoyed by itself without any side distraction.
My daughter could crawl around here for probably 45 minutes without boredom, if I allowed her to. As her curiosity no longer settled by a mere push of a button or touching the steering wheel, she has now started to press on the horn or throwing cup-holder change about. This moment has passed and we are on to another one, as is the way of life.
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