My kids each caught "mosquito bats" last night. They proudly showed them off to their friends at school this morning.
Pipqueak had no problem, at the end of the day, letting her's fly back into nature.
Stink, in typical forlorn fashion, was too sad to let his go. "I'll miss my friend," he sighed.
Pip's teacher chimed in, "Sweetie, bugs aren't meant to live in cages. They are meant to be free. Just like you are!"
Never underestimate the persuasive powers of Stink. "I'm not free!' he bellowed. "My mommy tells me what to do all the time!"
While I certainly don't keep my son under lock and key like that poor mosquito, I do keep him safe. There are rules, like it or lump it, that he must follow.
It's a constant battle: Be a free floating spirit (who might get squashed by a windshield for passion) or stay safe within plexiglass walls. You won't get hurt, but it's not a bunch of fun either.
Maya Angelou talks about this in her epic poem. In it, there are two birds contrasted: One who has the world under her wings, and one who is stuck behind a cage, singing of what he doesn't really know.
As a mom, and a wife, I know what's out there. I know what I'm missing by leading a safe, predictable existence in a respected suburb, but I also know what I'm gaining in grounded children and solid foundations.
There's a fine line in balancing routines that tie me down and partaking of adventures with questionable outcomes.
The ticket is to be grateful for the mediocrity of my life - my safety net - but always remember that the key to true purpose and fulfillment lies in my hands.
I am giving God the credit for that power of those keys - the gentle whisper of right and wrong, hope and love.
Perhaps you'll validate someone or something else for it. But what I hope you never do is blame another person or event for sitting on that boring perch and singing the same old song.
Cock-a-doodle do. No thank you.
Hey, that rhymed! Look out Maya Angelou! (Okay, maybe not.)
Pipqueak had no problem, at the end of the day, letting her's fly back into nature.
Stink, in typical forlorn fashion, was too sad to let his go. "I'll miss my friend," he sighed.
Pip's teacher chimed in, "Sweetie, bugs aren't meant to live in cages. They are meant to be free. Just like you are!"
Never underestimate the persuasive powers of Stink. "I'm not free!' he bellowed. "My mommy tells me what to do all the time!"
While I certainly don't keep my son under lock and key like that poor mosquito, I do keep him safe. There are rules, like it or lump it, that he must follow.
It's a constant battle: Be a free floating spirit (who might get squashed by a windshield for passion) or stay safe within plexiglass walls. You won't get hurt, but it's not a bunch of fun either.
Maya Angelou talks about this in her epic poem. In it, there are two birds contrasted: One who has the world under her wings, and one who is stuck behind a cage, singing of what he doesn't really know.
As a mom, and a wife, I know what's out there. I know what I'm missing by leading a safe, predictable existence in a respected suburb, but I also know what I'm gaining in grounded children and solid foundations.
There's a fine line in balancing routines that tie me down and partaking of adventures with questionable outcomes.
The ticket is to be grateful for the mediocrity of my life - my safety net - but always remember that the key to true purpose and fulfillment lies in my hands.
I am giving God the credit for that power of those keys - the gentle whisper of right and wrong, hope and love.
Perhaps you'll validate someone or something else for it. But what I hope you never do is blame another person or event for sitting on that boring perch and singing the same old song.
Cock-a-doodle do. No thank you.
Hey, that rhymed! Look out Maya Angelou! (Okay, maybe not.)
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