Monday, November 4, 2013

the one who takes his time

My brother said he was taking his sweet time when they were collecting eggs the other day.
He always takes his sweet time.
He reminds me that time really can be sweet if i don't hurry it into something bitter.
With each egg he picked up there was examining to be done.
  Hurry up, Oliver.  We've got more to do.

And still his pace continued.

Finally, in a tone that only Uncle Robert could get away with, he asked...
  Boy, do you even know what 'hurry up' means?!


This tiny observer of all things paused, looked up, and replied in a way that only a favorite nephew can get away with...
  Yep, it means to go fast.

And yet he rarely does.

Even his entry to this world wasn't rushed.
Nearly two weeks past his due date.
Hours in the delivery room with no sudden movements.
Finally, the doctors literally had to cut me open and pull him out.

He loves that story of how he was so content in my belly that he didn't want to leave.
When I retell it he curls up on my lap with thumb in mouth, head pressed tight against me, eyes closed as if he'd like to be right back in that cozy place again.



He may be fascinated with fast cars and fast shoes and fast airplanes but the way that child moves is far from fast...
and yet these four years seem to have sped right by me.

It was four years ago today that I finally held him in my arms instead of my womb.
He's allowed me a lot of holding between then and now.
Lucy may be the 'doodlebug' but he is the cuddlebug.

I love his slow pace {even though on some busy days it makes me want to pull my hair out!}.  I know my steps are too quick and it helps to have someone poking along behind you to make you stop for a moment and remember that there's really no need to be in such a crazy hurry.

I love the way he doesn't just hug me but wraps his whole body around me until we fit perfectly together.

I love his verbose way of speaking and telling stories.  I can't help but prop the broom against the wall and sit down to listen attentively.

I love how he is content with who he is and doesn't try to impress anyone {although a little more tact on occasion would be nice}.

I love how he introduces himself to others...
  Hi.  I am called Oliver.

I love that he is a worker...a tinkerer...a fixer.  He is happiest with a toolbox in hand and a job to do.

I love that at his birthday party he dropped his pants in the middle of a circle of moms and peed right there in the grass.  {We were at the farm...and that's kinda how we roll out there}

I love that he has recently learned how to eat a meal without needing a drop cloth under his chair.

I love that he has never changed his favorite color.  He's completely loyal to green.

I love how he runs and sticks his head in the corner of the nearest piece of furniture when he gets upset.

I love when I send him to collect tomatoes from the garden and he eats more of them than he brings back.

I love how he knows every single word to all of his favorite songs and sings them with conviction {especially if it's Toby Mac or Mat Kearney}

I love how he laughs with his mouth wide open.

I love that slow-moving, thumb-sucking, transformer-loving, nerf gun-totin' boy with all my mama heart.
And the more time he takes...the more of it he gives back to me...what a gift.
Happy Birthday Oliver.