And it's not just because I don't like the wrinkles that come with aging, or the new aches or the awareness that gravity ... is not a friend.
I want to be four again because I long for the heart.
I want to wear crumbs on my face and not care.
Not because I am lazy. And not because I think a crumby face is a good look. But because how silly is it to worry about whether one's face is a little crumby? When one is four ... no one cares about crumbs.
Or bare feet.
Or lipstick that went a bit over the edge:
Last week, Lucy, my four-year-old, whistled for the first time. The first time. This little person got to experience a whistle coming from her wee little frame FORTHEFIRSTTIME.
She said, "Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! I whistled!"
I was all, "Yeah, yeah ... whistle schmistle."
I may have played up my excitement for her a little more than that, but my heart held just about that much excitement. She's kid #3 ... we've had a couple other first whistles ... plus I'm 37, people. Whistlin' is no "big," ya know? People. The great majority of us have arms, legs, belly buttons and can whistle. See? Big whoop.
A short time later I heard Lucy giggling so sweetly in her booster seat. It was a certain content little giggle. A giggle that perhaps could even turn Darth Vader away from the Dark Side. Oh, that little girl giggle ...
I HAD to ask, "Lucy. Honey. What on earth are you gigglin' about?"
With her mouth in as full a smile as it could stretch she squeaked out, "MAAAAAMAAAAAA! I whistled for the FIRST! TIME!"
And I cried. My girl. MY girl. My little girl ...
I'm talking about freedom in experiencing joy ...
Expressing joy. Sharing joy. Joy.
I also want somebody to do my shopping, cooking and laundry. Maybe that's what this is actually all about.
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