My normal radio stations were making my headache worse this morning, so I flipped over to the country station. The song caught my attention, so I listened to the whole thing. A google search just now taught me that it's called "Take Your Breath Away" by George Strait.
I've heard the quote, "Life isn't measured by the breaths you take but by the things that take your breath away," but I've never given it much thought.
Although corny, the song reminded me of that quote, and really made me think. The thought came to me that we often remember our lives as a series of events. But it's the way those events affect us that makes us who we are. So when I heard the song this morning I determined to start taking notice of things in my boring old life that do take my breath away. I'll write some of them here, as a way to be grateful for some of the simple and awesome things that happen all the time. But otherwise would go unrecognized or even forgotten. I encourage you to do the same on your blog or the comments here.
To start, yesterday: I was volunteering in Buddy's class at school while a professional artist gave the kids a lesson in drawing and the techniques of painting with watercolors. The artist showed the kids some slides of art and colors and asked them all sorts of questions to get their creative juices flowing. There is one boy in Buddy's class that is, in my opinion, a little socially awkward. He lives down the road from us, so Buddy made friends with him on the bus and now they sit together on the bus, eat lunch together, and he's been to our house a few times. He's not an outcast or anything, but not the typical outgoing person that Buddy is normally attracted to, yet for whatever reason (and I've asked myself 100 times why), he has became one of Buddy's closest friends this year. Anyway, that boy raised his hand and answered one of the artists questions. Immediately, I noticed Buddy try to make eye contact with the friend from across the room. Then... I saw Buddy give him a thumbs up. I hope to never forgot what it means to be a good friend.
Today: Sambo started a speech class at the early special education offices. He got all ready for "school," put his backpack on, and told me all the way over to the school that he didn't want me to go in with him. He wanted me to leave him there so he could be a big boy -- and I did. He was so cute I could hardly stand it. And although he won't be three years old until Sunday, he grew up today.
Today: I was reading a blog post today from one of my favorite bloggers. She was writing about disciplining her 6-year old triplets and mentioned a comment she received on her blog four years ago, when her triplets were two. "Shame on you for not possessing the same control you expect of your children." This comment didn't just take my breath away, but sucked all my air right out of my body. I am going to use this comment as a guidepost for my parenting.