The kids and I {and Lucas, too, for a few days here and there...} are on a Maine adventure for the week. It feels very 1950's or something, having him here on the weekend, and then watching him leave Sunday night for the work week. Though he'll be back tomorrow night to celebrate our girl's birthday Tuesday. Regardless, it feels very old fashioned, and liberating at the same time. The freedom. The excitement of alone time with the kids someplace where the laundry doesn't pile up as much, there aren't bills on the counter, and spontaneity is on the wind.
After baths tonight we decided to throw caution to that spontaneous wind and we headed down to the beach with the intention of watching the Super Moon rise over the sea. We dawned sweatshirts, snagged the last parking space and then grabbed a blanket from the car and danced onto the fine, cool sand of our favorite hidden beach. My boy cartwheeled his heart out, my girl jumped with her freshly bathed legs from tide pool to tide pool, and we stared at the sky as it clouded over. We caught just a glimpse of a bright pink moon before it hid behind the cloud cover.
Intentions are fine and wonderful, but the real magic always happens when you let go of them for a bit, or keep them a bit vague... open. Intention and expectation are two words that I will admit to having trouble with at times. I want to stick to them. To cling to them. My intention is one thing, but if I'm not careful {and often I'm not...} it turns into an expectation and I truly believe that expectations kill so many joys and hold us back from experiences that have life changing potential, most times for the better.
Tonight the light changed each and every moment. The sky was painted in pinks and purples, hues of orange and blue. Clouds magically whisked away the moon, replaced by an even more spectacular portrait of an August evening on the coast of Maine. There was a tinge of disappointment on my part, though the kids were happy as clams to simply be out past bed time, getting sandy and collecting sea glass and shells. And so I let my expectation of seeing the Super Moon go. And of course, I felt lighter. And of course, I could hear what my children were saying to me clearer. They were happy. They were on an adventure. And it was a special night to them.
We headed back to the condo and as we pulled into the parking lot my son gasped so loudly, I jumped in my seat. Ahead of us was the moon, brilliant and bright, full and above the clouds. Waiting for us. We ran inside, dished up bowls of ice cream and sat on the deck until the kids heads were heavy and their beds called to them. My girl walked inside sleepily asking if we could paint the moon in golds and silvers and yellows. My boy commented on how nights like this don't happen all that often {whether he meant the moon, an evening on the beach, or ice cream way after bedtime... I'm still not sure!}
I tucked them in, smiling with visions of the marsh and sky, pinks and purples, her night gown dancing down the beach, his sweatshirt pockets brimming with seashells...
After baths tonight we decided to throw caution to that spontaneous wind and we headed down to the beach with the intention of watching the Super Moon rise over the sea. We dawned sweatshirts, snagged the last parking space and then grabbed a blanket from the car and danced onto the fine, cool sand of our favorite hidden beach. My boy cartwheeled his heart out, my girl jumped with her freshly bathed legs from tide pool to tide pool, and we stared at the sky as it clouded over. We caught just a glimpse of a bright pink moon before it hid behind the cloud cover.
Intentions are fine and wonderful, but the real magic always happens when you let go of them for a bit, or keep them a bit vague... open. Intention and expectation are two words that I will admit to having trouble with at times. I want to stick to them. To cling to them. My intention is one thing, but if I'm not careful {and often I'm not...} it turns into an expectation and I truly believe that expectations kill so many joys and hold us back from experiences that have life changing potential, most times for the better.
Tonight the light changed each and every moment. The sky was painted in pinks and purples, hues of orange and blue. Clouds magically whisked away the moon, replaced by an even more spectacular portrait of an August evening on the coast of Maine. There was a tinge of disappointment on my part, though the kids were happy as clams to simply be out past bed time, getting sandy and collecting sea glass and shells. And so I let my expectation of seeing the Super Moon go. And of course, I felt lighter. And of course, I could hear what my children were saying to me clearer. They were happy. They were on an adventure. And it was a special night to them.
We headed back to the condo and as we pulled into the parking lot my son gasped so loudly, I jumped in my seat. Ahead of us was the moon, brilliant and bright, full and above the clouds. Waiting for us. We ran inside, dished up bowls of ice cream and sat on the deck until the kids heads were heavy and their beds called to them. My girl walked inside sleepily asking if we could paint the moon in golds and silvers and yellows. My boy commented on how nights like this don't happen all that often {whether he meant the moon, an evening on the beach, or ice cream way after bedtime... I'm still not sure!}
I tucked them in, smiling with visions of the marsh and sky, pinks and purples, her night gown dancing down the beach, his sweatshirt pockets brimming with seashells...