We went for a visit over to my lil sis's the night before last. The kids were all running about -- well, Noelle was crawling, Emma was toddling, and Cole and Kaylee were doing their "I can't run in the house so I will hop and skip around" dance.
I glanced out the window and saw this:
I ran for my camera and the kids followed with shouts of "Wow" and "It's like fire!". This led to them asking if they could try their hand at the camera, and what resulted was two little ones moving from room to room with the pace of one with a purpose, the pace of one hot with creativity. In other words, all that hop and skip around energy was being channeled through their eyes into the lens of that camera. They needed no direction, no prodding; this was pure unadulterated spur of the moment learning.
Not just for them.
For you see, I got my first glimpse through the eyes of a child, and it occurred to me how truly precious a camera put into those little hands can be. How many times do we yearn to see what our children find interesting, to know what we appear to them as, to be in their world?
Kaylee came up with this idea and was so excited to pull evey little clay turtle out of its box so she could arrange and shoot them.
Mom at the stove
Mom at the Stove
Uncle Stephen and cousin Noelle
Aunt Danielle and Kaylee
As I looked through the images, what struck me was how all those casual moments we take for granted, the kind we make no memory of because they are the canvas on which the rest of our lives are painted, how utterly beautiful those are when standing only 4 feet tall. Because to them, these moments are it -- the threads they use to weave their own canvas, firm and flexible, on which one day will be painted the masterpiece of their own life.
Moments so warm and cozy and safe.
So wonderfully ordinary.
I suppose, everything childhood should be.