Random beautiful moments

A 3yo and 6yo up at the crack of dawn, every dawn, every day, for multiple hours, to make art: drawing, painting, constructing, assembling, writing; all of it in messy, messy manner and conducted with an exquisite blend of solemn focus and joyful mayhem. (01-19-23)

A 3yo declining to watch PBS Kids: “…can I do more homework instead?” And he did. (11-30-22)

An 11yo reading the story of Helen Keller aloud to her 2yo brother, enraptured and transfixed, on a weekend morning. (3-12-22)

Falling asleep together with a 5-year old on a Sunday afternoon while reading Ivy & Bean (1-16-22)

Spending an afternoon of dress up and costuming with a four year old, and having him suggest we dance to classical music, like “…Flight of the Bumblebee.” 3-4-21

Spending a morning of bubble-blowing and chalk drawing with young children. 3-2-21

Reading Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss on a Sunday afternoon with my three oldest children snuggled up with me on the couch; all of us caught up in the words and illustrations…until I began falling asleep, and my daughter offered to take up the reading while I dozed off for fifteen minutes. Bliss. 2/21/21

He came up to me, grabbed my hand, led me down the hallway to our bedroom, where he tugged his blanket from crib and then reached up for me. “Da, da,” he said, which is not baby speak for “Dad,” or a derivative. I said “Old McDonald Had a Farm?” and he nodded; laying his head on my chest as I danced and sang with him at 9.30 in the morning, his eyes open wide and watching as I made my way through a cow, an ostrich, a snake, a fish, a dinosaur, a mouse, and kangaroo. Then his eyes fell and he nodded off. I loved it so much. 1/15/21

It’s hard to not feel too great about life when your 3-year old starts off the morning dancing around floor-thumping Vivaldi with a big grin and a thousand dance moves. 10/24

A 13-year old snuggled on the couch reading Goodnight Moon to her youngest brothers.

A three-year old galloping around the living room humming Rossini’s William Tell Overture.

A ten-year old getting up before 6am every morning to do chores so he’ll have time to draw and write before we start school…where we’ll be doing a lot of drawing and writing. October

A three-year old’s refusal to keep a small bowl of ice cream all to himself; offering me a bite after every one he took. “I’d like to share my ice cream with you Dada.”

A ten-year old spending two hours, on his own, working with his younger brother on toilet training.

A three-year old asking his ten-year old brother if he’ll read him a book of Greek mythology before bed…and finding them snuggled up doing exactly that. 8/20

A nine-year old doing math and asking if he can listen to Vivaldi while he’s working. “He’s probably my favourite composer, I really like listening to him in the morning.”

A three-year old asking “what’s camping?” after I set up a tent in our backyard. After finding out, his excitement could not be contained and he literally quivered with anticipation. Note: he has been camping a number of times. But he’s three. So some experiences are fresh for the first time multiple times. And that is beautiful too. (4/20)

A three-year old sitting by the front door, clad in diaper and boots, sobbing. Fresh out of the bath, he was ready to go outside again and get filthy. Again. Apparently nine hours of play-work in the sun wasn’t enough.

He came up to me on the couch and nestled in; a short time later I woke up with my arm around him and eyes down. An unplanned Shabbat late-afternoon nap with my nine-year old boy. My neck hurt, but my heart was rejuvenated.

A nine-year old up at 6am to read The Diary of Anne Frank. Unblinking, he accepted the slobbering six-month old I plopped in his lap and continued reading intensely.

”I love to kiss you,” he said admiringly to his older brother, walking up to him to deliver a smack, and then go back to assembling a puzzle.

A three-year old earnestly singing a loud mashup of Baa Baa Black Sheep and Jesus Loves Me at the library on a busy Monday morning.

My almost 10-year old niece whispering mischievously as we part ways: “…love you more, and I miss you more already.” My heart.

My nephew, a boy-man, coming over for a second farewell, a giant monstrous hug as we part ways; his ever-stronger frame stretched against mine and his muscular arms wrapping around me as he says in that voice I’ve been hearing for 13+ years, “…love you JoJo.” (What he calls me) My heart.

A nine-year old, on his own and unprompted, reading a book on lighthouses to his five-month old brother, snuggled next to him on the couch with eyes bouncing all over the pages.

My dad baking cookies with our two oldest; a process that requires the exactitude of a nuclear scientist. The process is beautiful to behold.

A three-year old whispering to his nine-year old brother, lying eighteen inches away in the dark: “Good night, I’ll see you in the morning. I hope you wake up.”

The Olympian focus of a three-year old working on his 27th puzzle of the day.

A nine- and 12-year old baking vegan chocolate chip cookies together on a drenching Sunday evening.

A three-year old wondering around the house singing My Favorite Things at various volumes, but with a constant grin and giggle, for anyone and no one.

Holding hands with my nine-year old niece while we walk up a trail on a late winter evening and talk about how mysterious and pretty fog is, and how strange it is that we both love it. She giggles, and I twirl her and hug her goodnight.

Walking into a scene in which my wife is hunched in a wooden chair in a dark room, face illuminated by the light of Spotify app, curating a special holiday playlist with a big grin and self-satisfied demeanor.

Lying in the midnight hours on a hastily constructed living room floor bed; a situation made necessary from multiple stomach-emptying throw up sessions with a two-year old. After getting him cleaned up, again, lights on to finish, he looks up with his messy blonde vomit-smelling face and a beautific countenance punctuated with a smile. “How are you feeling?” I asked. His expression remained calmly cheery as he looked at me, eyes sparkling. “Doing well,” he said.

A beautiful blonde mom, sprawled out sleeping across a purple couch, in a deep and unaffected slumber that is somehow effortless and sensual as her infant son, post-nursing, is splayed out atop her, grunt-breathing and tiny lungs filling in breaths as he soaks in her presence.

Your two-year old son play fighting with his older brother, swinging his fist and missing completely as it crashes against a hard wood surface, and running over to sob into your shoulder.❤️😢

The rain thundering down as you try and grab a 20-minute nap in the drivers seat of a small car while camped out in a corner of a Fred Meyer parking lot.

Two siblings, 9 and 12, side by side temporarily in bed reading World War II novels by dim light (The Watcher, Number the Stars).

When one of your library pals - an employee - invites your whole family over for Thanksgiving.

A two-year old offering - aggressively - to change his three-month old brother’s diaper: “I can do it all by myself.”

A nine-year old boy watching the 2008 film version of Pride & Prejudice and commenting throughout about how it’s not quite as good as the five—hour BBC version. “It’s still good, but it just seems like everything is happening too fast, and I think Colin Firth is a way better Mr. Darcy.” ❤️
A foggy walk in which bovine bellows can be heard through the mist, while their shapes remain mysterious and lumbering with variant abilities of litheness through the grasslands.

Three children making supper together in the kitchen on a Friday night while Sigur Ros, Nick Cave croon a dark score. Tacos!

A two year old excitedly explaining to one of his heroes (his nine-year old Greek mythology-loving brother) how much he loves Hector and Achilles.

The dark gothic fog creeping through the day and night in all its haughty, ephemeral quiet that radiates romance, melancholy, sadness, hope, mystery, and is ideally scored by at least one listen of Echo & The Bunnymen’s Siberia as you trudge through a damp forest.

A gruff older woman looking at me sternly, up and down, and asking how my leg was doing post torn-calf injury. She’s made a point to ask. It feels good sometimes to have somebody remember something like that.

A two-year old singing along to The Lonely Goatherd from The Sound of Music.

When you’re falling asleep and as your lids drop you catch a glimpse of a gigantic moon spying in on you it’s like Night’s version of a rainbow that’s telling you things are looking up. And you get a sliver of hope to slumber to.

Two nine-year olds discussing how to properly bite a very cold fudgesicle: “You have to use your molars,” one explained authoritatively.

When the gruff old crossing guard calls out loudly “love you” - to you and your kids - as you’re waving, and you’ve never ever heard her say anything like that before.

July 2019

2014 below

The kids (3, 6) reminded me last night, when I was racing through goodnight prayer: “Daddy, you forgot to pray for the people in Syria and the Ukraine!” 5-8-2014