Independence

In order to get a picture of him actually looking at the camera, we began singing "5 Little Monkeys". This is Weslee's favorite part where Mr. Alligator "SNAPS" the monkey right out of the tree.

Wes sees the ducks and is yelling "Waat! Waat! Waat! Waat!" at them all.

Wes is at an age now where there is a delicate balance between independence and the desire to cling to my leg. Today's walk was an excellent example. We started off on a footpath near our house towards the river to see and feed the ducks...or the "Waat Waat Waat" as Weslee calls them. It was a rare day when it wasn't too cold (we were able to stay outside for an hour until our fingers became numb) and the sun was shining. The sun doesn't shine here every day in the winter. Most days are filled with clouds, and most of the time, those clouds are filled with a misty rain that covers every thing in a slippery film. The wet seeps into the ground and creates mud everywhere. I hate getting muddy, but it's a part of the British countryside I've had to come to accept. There are only two choices here...stay in doors and become terribly depressed, or venture outdoors and become terribly cold and muddy. We choose the cold and muddy alternative and wash laundry often. Our radiators are often draped with everything from kitchen towels to underwear. The radiators dry clothes far faster than our British clothes dryer. Most people here just hang their laundry out to dry in the morning. I'm still confused how laundry can dry when it's misting outside. I don't trust the method or the dryer and so I continue to use the radiators.

On today's adventure, we head out for the ducks after lunch, even though I'm aware that Weslee is tired. I know that if we wait until after his nap, it will be getting dark and colder and neither of us will enjoy the walk as much (the sun goes down at 3:30 pm right now and will continue to get darker sooner until Dec. 21st). So, we bundle up and head outside. Weslee seems particularly excited to be outside or "side" as he calls it and races down the side walk with a huge smile on his face yelling "Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!" to every person and dog he meets.

I finally steer him towards the footpath (they are dirt paths throughout the countryside and connect the many villages to one another) that leads to the river. He had wanted to follow the middle school children into town. The teachers all compliment him on his winter hat as they pass from the middle school and disappear down Church Walk toward St. Mary's Cathedral and he hides his face in my jeans. I thank them for him. After they pass, he lurches after them, tripping on his own feet to get off the curb and onto the street. I catch him as he falls and lead him in the other direction. He pulls away for a moment and then forgets why he's struggling and begins happily walking in the right direction. I marvel at how easily toddlers are distracted.

We stop to smell random leaves, usually wet and moldering on the soggy English turf. We stop to examine tiny flowers that somehow manage to bloom in the winter dreariness. We stop to play in the mud and examine the bottoms of our shoes. And finally, we reach the footpath where I can let him run free between the fences. He runs and tries to jump, looking more like he's dancing than jumping. He examines a garbage truck going on it's daily rounds. He stands and watches it for more than 5 minutes as it disappears down the road. The men stop and smile at him. He hides his face in my jeans again, which are getting dirtier by the minute. When they leave, he begins his run down the lane again. He loves being free. The distance between us emboldens him and he runs faster laughing loudly, hands waving in the air.

The freedom can't last for long. He's not stable enough on his feet to run as fast as he would like, especially on the slippery mud. He falls, face first...luckily into a pile of blackened leaves. He doesn't move. He waits for me to pick him up and comfort him. I encourage him to stand up and dust himself off. He won't. His pride is wounded more than his little cherub face and he waits for me so that he can hide himself in my shirt and hear me whisper words of comfort and affirmation. I hold him, knowing full well that he's wiping snot and mud all over my jacket. I'm starting to regard such offerings as normal parts of my apparel.

After a few minutes, he uncovers his face and looks around excitedly. He's ready to be free again and I let him down, even though he's told me that he wants "Up". "Up" means up and down in this household. I touch his feet to the earth and almost immediately, they carry him far down the lane.

We get to the river and see the ducks. Wonder crosses my sweet son's eyes. He loves the animals. He yells at them "Waat! Waat! Waat!" and hopes they can understand his "ducky" language. He laughs hysterically when they dunk under the water and shake the leftover droplets from their wings. He flaps around on the bank, alternately yelling and laughing for 5 minutes.

And then, the magic is gone. The wind gets colder. I notice his little hands are now quite red. He rubs his eyes and I realize that bed time is upon us. He reaches his hands up and boldly asks "Up?" and this time I hold him, realizing that the walk back will require my feet alone. A wise friend once told me never to walk with my children further than I was willing to carry them back. I think of this as we trudge through the mud back to our house. My son's muddy shoes brush against my jeans as we walk and I notice the stains growing blacker with each stride. I've only recently dressed for the day and I am glad that I put on jeans I had worn the day before. That leaves me a clean pair for Young Women's later tonight. I feel him nuzzle his head into my neck and I feel his cold nose and hot breath against my skin. He's getting heavy, but I feel the sweetness of the moment and I don't require him to walk any further. I pat his back as we walk and talk about how much fun I've had with him.

By the time we reach home, the sun has sunk towards the horizon, kissing the tree line. It is 2:45 and the rays of light are already getting long. The tempurature, pleasant only an hour before, is forcing both Weslee and I to shiver. We take our muddied shoes off outside the door and step into the cottage.

My little boy, so keen to be independent, snuggles further into me as we take off our jackets. I take the time to snuggle him in a big warm blanket and read to him while he warms. I think of the paradox of toddlerhood, the independence mingled with the necessity for safety, guidance, and comfort and realize that in so many ways, we are all toddlers to God. We all walk down the path of life, sometimes running faster than we can, all glorying in our freedom and our independence. And yet, our lives are wrapped so wholly around Him who created us. How many times in my fear, frustration, or sheer exhaustion have I cried out to him to carry me and found that he was strong enough to carry us both. I wonder if in those moments, when my whole soul reaches out to him with trust and humility, he feels as I feel carrying my son back from a long walk. I wonder if he's overcome with love for me as he helps and comforts me the way I'm overcome with love as I help and comfort Weslee. And I am overcome with gratitude, not only for my moments with Weslee, but for the tangible understanding they give me into the character of an eternal Being who has Fathered me.