“Around here, however, we don’t look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things… and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.” -Walt Disney
I considered recounting our 9/11 story here. Everybody has one, and I'd venture to say most people could be moved to tears while recounting their own. But somehow, as time has passed, it feels more like something I'm loathe to share much anymore. It's not that I care less, or god forbid, that I've somehow forgotten about that day, but time has a way of shedding light into the dark corners, if we let it. I'll never be at peace with what happened, but I think I'm finally at peace that it did happen. The world in which my children live, grow, and will one day maybe raise their own families, will forever be touched by 9/11. I used to kind of rail against that, but it wasn't a particularly helpful frame of mind. The best we can do in this life is to simply live it.
Nobody can promise me, or you, or my beautiful children, that we'll get another tomorrow, but the unbridled human spirit wants to keep moving forward anyway. I choose to work on recognizing and embracing that sentiment, in this life, which I personally feel is the only life I'll be given. It's sometimes easier to dwell in the house of grief, to wring our hands with worry and too much anxiety over what the neighbors will think, but the only people we're shortchanging when we fall into that pit of despair are ourselves and the people we love, who aren't being allowed to rise to the occasion of trying to love us for all that we are. 'Cause they do, you know, warts and all.
So yesterday, on the 10th anniversary, we spent our day in the light. Both boys were finally past the point with their yucky colds where I didn't feel like it was detrimental to them or the general public to take them out into the world, so we ventured to the Cincinnati Nature Center's extremely awesome playscape. We told them to go explore, and explore they did. They floated twigs down the stream, climbed up slippery creek rocks on their bare feet and played an intricate game of hide-and-seek with a friend they made there. It warmed my heart when I heard Anderson ask her if she wanted to play with them, and I couldn't help but beam as I watched the three of them hide in the little caves pretending to be lions. She was 8, so a little older, and she watched over David (who will be THREE on Friday, eek), especially. We were so happy to encounter such a kind, peaceful family on our trip. The whole experience reminded me how valuable it is to relax into a moment under a gorgeous blue sky, out in the light of the world.
We finally coaxed our two exhausted, filthy, happy boys back into the van/Goldfish cracker habitat, and made our way back to the life that didn't exist 10 years ago, a little lighter despite all the mud.
By they way - the Disney quote is shown at the end of one of our favorite kids movies, "Meet the Robinsons." This is a great movie with a fantastic message.
I considered recounting our 9/11 story here. Everybody has one, and I'd venture to say most people could be moved to tears while recounting their own. But somehow, as time has passed, it feels more like something I'm loathe to share much anymore. It's not that I care less, or god forbid, that I've somehow forgotten about that day, but time has a way of shedding light into the dark corners, if we let it. I'll never be at peace with what happened, but I think I'm finally at peace that it did happen. The world in which my children live, grow, and will one day maybe raise their own families, will forever be touched by 9/11. I used to kind of rail against that, but it wasn't a particularly helpful frame of mind. The best we can do in this life is to simply live it.
Nobody can promise me, or you, or my beautiful children, that we'll get another tomorrow, but the unbridled human spirit wants to keep moving forward anyway. I choose to work on recognizing and embracing that sentiment, in this life, which I personally feel is the only life I'll be given. It's sometimes easier to dwell in the house of grief, to wring our hands with worry and too much anxiety over what the neighbors will think, but the only people we're shortchanging when we fall into that pit of despair are ourselves and the people we love, who aren't being allowed to rise to the occasion of trying to love us for all that we are. 'Cause they do, you know, warts and all.
So yesterday, on the 10th anniversary, we spent our day in the light. Both boys were finally past the point with their yucky colds where I didn't feel like it was detrimental to them or the general public to take them out into the world, so we ventured to the Cincinnati Nature Center's extremely awesome playscape. We told them to go explore, and explore they did. They floated twigs down the stream, climbed up slippery creek rocks on their bare feet and played an intricate game of hide-and-seek with a friend they made there. It warmed my heart when I heard Anderson ask her if she wanted to play with them, and I couldn't help but beam as I watched the three of them hide in the little caves pretending to be lions. She was 8, so a little older, and she watched over David (who will be THREE on Friday, eek), especially. We were so happy to encounter such a kind, peaceful family on our trip. The whole experience reminded me how valuable it is to relax into a moment under a gorgeous blue sky, out in the light of the world.
We finally coaxed our two exhausted, filthy, happy boys back into the van/Goldfish cracker habitat, and made our way back to the life that didn't exist 10 years ago, a little lighter despite all the mud.
By they way - the Disney quote is shown at the end of one of our favorite kids movies, "Meet the Robinsons." This is a great movie with a fantastic message.
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