Sierra V. Fedorko

I use to hold my baby boy at the goat pen and say, “Look at your future chores.” 

Yesterday, I told him to put his boots on and “take this bag down to Dad.” It was supposed to go down with the compost for the chickens, but it got left behind so I asked my son to do the task on his own. He was so happy to do it, of course. He loves to work outside and any chance to help Ben with anything (let alone dig a hole!) makes his whole world.

But as my little 3-year-old GROWN boy scampered off with his new rubber fire boots on and the bag of onions swinging from his hand, it felt like hitting a milestone.

They come out of nowhere some days.

He set the table of his own accord about a month ago and that was a whole special thing too. I wouldn’t trade this growing up/time flying thing. It’s a blast, incredible to watch. It feels more sweet than bitter, but I may also find myself watching him participate in Sunday School looking like he’s ALWAYS been that big and that tall and I may almost cry.

But later he will accidentally dump the Elmer’s glue in a goopy mess on the table (they’ll never ask me to help again, because that was on me), and you’ll be reminded how little they still are and how words still don’t always come out correctly, and the set table is incomplete and all crooked, and you’ll be watching him from the window awhile yet.

We celebrated Valentine’s Day this week, and in our family it’s a whole thing. That photo below is me + Ben is right before I pulled out the cake.

The living room and kitchen were a MESS, the kid’s play corner mirror you see hasn’t been cleaned since Thanksgiving Day (I’m pretty sure?), but who’s counting .

And yet…

The table got its traditional festive red tablecloth covered in hearts and the cake still managed to shine in the chaos. We laughed and worked through manners and all the parenting and life things that never stop and it was a Happy Valentine’s Day, indeed!!

Celebration does take work, but I love the long process of it and how it allows me to mark the passage of time in a meaningful + happy way. Time does fly and we ask “Where does it go?” Or we find ourselves near tears in a Sunday School class before a pile of Elmer’s glue is spilled on the table, but when one Valentine’s Day follows another and another and another and another and I grow and my kids grow, and my husband and I grow old together, well, I can say, the confetti was thrown, and the balloons were hung, and the cakes came thick with sprinkles, repeatedly.

So it would seem that time went to good places in a hurry.

I treasure the days and marvel at the years. No one is fooled, of course. It’s not perfect. Time can feel bitter, hard, complicated, and not at all how it’s supposed to be, but it is always worth noting the cadence of seasons falling into one another, and the joy squeezed between the cracks of brokenness and bluster. So, whenever it is very good may we not live in denial!

Reminds me of the poem I wrote back in late summer…

like children with ice-cream
running down chins while
playing in summer gardens
paying no mind to what
might be lurking
knowing nearby is mom
and her name can always
be called
I wonder if you could also
let the ice-cream drip awhile
let the summer air be sweet
step barefoot into your
blessings
point to the butterflies with
sticky hands
and let Me care
for what might be hiding
let Me hold
all that scares you
let Me tend to everything
creeping here unwanted
you just let your ice-cream
drip all the way down your chin
let the blessings roll
feel them in your hands
taste and see that I am good
play laugh run free
ask for seconds
or cry my Name
I’m already here
already there
so let your ice-cream
drip awhile
drip awhile more!

-S.V.F., Count Your Blessings/Enjoy Them One by One

And so I shall. Count my blessings, that is. Let my ice-cream drip awhile. Stand long at the window. Enjoy the leftover Valentine’s Cake. Give thanks to the Lord of my Life, the Creator of all beautiful things, the Source of every perfect, every good gift.

I’ll be counting awhile.