Yesterday my dog and I went to the woods and ran eleven miles on a gorgeous trail of damp fallen leaves, twisted roots, and rocks. We ran from morning until nearly noon, and watched pale grey skies turn blue and temperatures rise until sweat began to trickle down my body in a steady stream.
During the run, we passed the big blue heron who lives at the lake. She has two favorite rocks upon which she stands for hours, and we usually see her fly from one rock to the other in order to get away from us as we pass. It was my great pleasure to see that yesterday she stood her ground. She eyed us with her round eye as we passed nearby; but did not take to the air. It was a joy to run so near to her: the long neck fully extended, her blue grey feathers sleek and lovely. Her still presence suggested a willingness to be patient and observe me before taking flight.
This afternoon, in the wake of a frustrating morning in court, I began thinking about the heron and its patient pose at the lake.
I am a woman who likes to get things done. After a full morning at court followed by a trip to another court to take care of a few warrants, I came home to find the boys had done no homeschool in my absence. The only accomplishment seemed to be a new level reached on the Wii game. My husband had just gotten up and was having coffee. The house was a mess. The boys were still in their pajamas. It was 2pm.
I could have started shouting orders. That's what I've done in the past. Shouting usually results in some minimum accomplishments by the boys and a whole lot of crying, frustration, and bad feelings all around. The beauty of having run eleven miles the day before was that I was too tired to shout. Instead, I observed.
Walking through the house, I saw something I usually overlook. . . the boys were happy. They were cringing a bit because they had been caught goofing off; but I could see they'd had a nice morning. They had managed to take care of one another and let their father-- who had been working all night-- sleep through the morning.
Realizing the momentous effort that would be involved in getting everyone back on "schedule," I knew I wasn't up to it. "How about we take a break today?" I asked. Their faces beamed. After the horrible fights I had mediated all morning in court, happiness and family peace seemed far more important than insisting on planned math and Latin lessons.
Like the heron on her rock, throughout the afternoon I simply watched . . . my children. Spencer played outside for an hour. John Robert did a load of laundry. They all helped their Dad in the yard. Later, John Robert began reading a book on the green couch. Spencer came in and sat in a nearby chair and began reading about the Civil War. Denver sat on the floor near them both and began to "read" some books of his own. After a while, I made a buffet of snacks on the kitchen island and invited everyone to eat. The boys sat on the kitchen island and ate and talked. There were no complaints. It was peaceful. John Robert invited me to a game of chess, and told me all about a science show he'd been watching. Denver invented some new rules for chess, and we played a game by his new rules. My husband went to work out. I read books to Denver until I was too tired to keep going. Spencer went to karate.
Was this a "wasted" day? I don't think so. With the image of the heron in my mind, I realized that patience-- and a willingness to simply observe before judging-- can turn a rough day into a beautiful one.
I am a woman who likes to get things done. After a full morning at court followed by a trip to another court to take care of a few warrants, I came home to find the boys had done no homeschool in my absence. The only accomplishment seemed to be a new level reached on the Wii game. My husband had just gotten up and was having coffee. The house was a mess. The boys were still in their pajamas. It was 2pm.
I could have started shouting orders. That's what I've done in the past. Shouting usually results in some minimum accomplishments by the boys and a whole lot of crying, frustration, and bad feelings all around. The beauty of having run eleven miles the day before was that I was too tired to shout. Instead, I observed.
Walking through the house, I saw something I usually overlook. . . the boys were happy. They were cringing a bit because they had been caught goofing off; but I could see they'd had a nice morning. They had managed to take care of one another and let their father-- who had been working all night-- sleep through the morning.
Realizing the momentous effort that would be involved in getting everyone back on "schedule," I knew I wasn't up to it. "How about we take a break today?" I asked. Their faces beamed. After the horrible fights I had mediated all morning in court, happiness and family peace seemed far more important than insisting on planned math and Latin lessons.
Like the heron on her rock, throughout the afternoon I simply watched . . . my children. Spencer played outside for an hour. John Robert did a load of laundry. They all helped their Dad in the yard. Later, John Robert began reading a book on the green couch. Spencer came in and sat in a nearby chair and began reading about the Civil War. Denver sat on the floor near them both and began to "read" some books of his own. After a while, I made a buffet of snacks on the kitchen island and invited everyone to eat. The boys sat on the kitchen island and ate and talked. There were no complaints. It was peaceful. John Robert invited me to a game of chess, and told me all about a science show he'd been watching. Denver invented some new rules for chess, and we played a game by his new rules. My husband went to work out. I read books to Denver until I was too tired to keep going. Spencer went to karate.
Was this a "wasted" day? I don't think so. With the image of the heron in my mind, I realized that patience-- and a willingness to simply observe before judging-- can turn a rough day into a beautiful one.
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