sunset
Sunsets
I took this picture from my back porch last March. I’d been working away on the computer when my son slipped next to me and said, “Mama, we haven’t watched a sunset together in a long time!” My little heart melted, and I had to grab the camera to remember the moment.
In movies and literature, sunsets are rather iconic. Often, the hero rides off into it. It’s a time of change, transition (think Fiona in Shrek). It’s the ending of one phase and the start of another.
We all face countless sunsets in our lives: graduation from high school and college; marriage; children. And the same can be said for us as writers: completing that first novel; attending that first conference; receiving that first critique; facing that first rejection; attaining an agent; signing a book deal.
Some of these sunsets we pray for. We eagerly await those moments when we can finally close that chapter in our lives. Move forward. Sometimes we’re there in our minds long before reality catches up. I totally do this when I think about finding an agent.
But too often, we’re so anxious for the sunset, we forget to appreciate the beauty of the day. Having recently finished my 2nd book, I can tell you that while it felt good, it didn’t even rival how I felt after completing my first one. And it was an unpublishable mess. Yet, I don’t think I appreciated that joy at the time.
No matter what sunset you’re waiting on, what are you appreciating about your “day”?
Me? I’m appreciating that I have no tight deadlines. 😉
Speak up:
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Fiona, hero, Shrek, sunsetA Beautiful Sunset with a Kick
Yesterday was call (i.e. Rick worked all night). While London was at school, we had a full day. A playdate, gymnastics, and even a run to the toystore because Razors were on sale. (Brandt is now the proud new owner of his own scooter!)
What a great mom, huh? It’s not birthday or Christmas or any other holiday, but just because I know Brandt will enjoy it. So in gratitude, he should be happy boy with no complaints all day. Right? Yes, right.
After another playdate (when London got home), it was time to get down to work. London has piano practice and reading before dinner. Lucky Brandt gets to play.
London sits at the piano, but does Brandt not get the “lucky” part?
Me: Brandt, you need to let London practice.
Brandt: No! I’m going to play!
Me: Brandt, please get off the piano bench so your brother can pratice.
Brandt: No! Tinga! Pinga! Pinga! Bing! Bang! Bop! [that’s meant to represent his playing . . . hey! you try and make piano sounds with words, then come back and appreciate my genius.] 😉
London: I don’t need any help, Brandt!
Me: Brandt, please play somewhere else.
I physically remove Brandt from the piano bench and set him on the couch.
Brandt: That’s no fair! You made me mad, mom!!! And I won’t play anywhere else!@!!! [if only you could hear the intensity in his voice. There’s just no way to translate that into words]
And he promptly ran across the room and booted me in the leg.
Yeah. Seriously.
I picked him up, marched him to his room and deposited him in his bed. Then I plopped in front of the computer and stared at the screen. My ire was pulsing WAY too fast to try talking to anyone else.
I mean, 1) Where did he learn that!? Because I certainly have never kicked him.
2) How could he kick me? Me?! His own mother who suffered 9, count them, 9 months of a miserable pregnancy, 4 hours of labor, innumberable sleepless nights, not to mention the extra weight I still bear around my center.
And 3) I bought him a stinkin’ scooter today!!! Isn’t that like having a get-out-of-temper-tantrums free card? Well it should be.
So there I am, glowering at the computer screen, when London says, “Mom! Look at that beautiful sunset! Come watch it with me!”
Well how can you refuse that? You can’t. So we stood and watched the sun setting.
London: I just love watching the sky turn yellow and orange. And look at the line of cloud, mom. Isn’t that just SO cool?
Me: Very cool, London.
London [snuggling in close]: It doesn’t get any more better than watching the sun set with your mama, does it?
Me: No, kiddo. It doesn’t.
How do kids know how to say just the right thing sometimes? What a little cutie. And suddenly the event that left me fuming was connected to this other amazingly sweet moment. The kind you treasure as a mom. The kind that makes all those other not-so-nice moments worth it. The kind you never forget.
London: Can we do this again some time, mama?
I hope so, kiddo. I certainly hope so.