The Golden Moment
My four kids sit at the kitchen table, each in their assigned places. I never intended to portion out the territory around the table, it is just something they did for themselves. Woe betide the sibling who dares to trespass on another’s chair. Many a heated battle has been waged over such infringements. But today there are no battles. Today they are happily working on a craft project together. Not even the limited supply of fuse beads can cause contention today. Kiki announces that she needs all of the black beads and all the other kids happily acquiesce.
I stand for a minute and watch them, four heads leaning together over our kitchen table. I am aware as I watch, that I am in a golden moment. I have no babies to make endless demands upon my schedule and energy, but all of my kids are still here at home rather than dashing off out into their own lives. I am truly fortunate. I want to lock today in memory because when I blink they’ll grow again. I know this because they’ve done it before. This is not the only time that I’ve stood in recognition of a golden moment. I’ve had them rocking babies or playing with toddlers or walking kids home from school. Some moments I only recognize as golden in retrospect. But today I see the moment for the treasure it is and I savor it.
At first the four kids are silent. Each one focused on the careful placement of beads. They have no thought for conversation. After a time, Gleek begins humming and Patches attempts to tell a knock knock joke. But the children seem to recognize the noise as an intrusion and they voluntarily decide to play the “quiet mouse” game. “One! Two! Three! Quiet mouse go!” and they all attempt to be the quietest child at the table. It does not last long, quiet mouse never does, because there must be some negotiations over the beads.
Fortunately our table is small enough that everyone can reach the beads easily. There have been times when I’ve lamented the small size of our kitchen table. It has no room for guests, only six places for the six of us. Today this will not matter. We’re going elsewhere for the Thanksgiving feast this afternoon. We’re going to a house much better arranged for hosting large groups. We’ve done Thanksgiving here before, but it feels wrong not to seat everyone around a single table. The kitchen is filled with the warm smells of pumpkin and apple pie. I baked them this morning to take with us when we go. The warmth of the oven is welcome because the temperature dropped two days ago. It now feels like winter outside rather than the gloriously mild Fall we had been enjoying for months.
I lean against the stove to soak in the radiant heat and look outside at the cold. There are birds squabbling over our feeder. Kiki notices them too. “Look Mom! A chickadee!” There is indeed a little mountain chickadee out there among the finches and sparrows. He looks dapper with his black hat and creamy front. Kiki smiles with delight. Lately Kiki has been the one keeping the feeder filled. I’m glad. I love to have birds chirping near our back door, but I so often forget to fill the feeder. I see it empty and feel sad that my life has become so busy that I don’t take time to feed birds. Now Kiki keeps a chittering flock near our window at all times. And if she sometimes scatters seeds across the deck as I’ve asked her not to do, I turn a blind eye. Seed husks on the deck are messy, but I’m willing to pay that price for birds. We can always sweep later.
“I’m done!” Kiki announces. She carefully takes her creation and places it on the counter for me to iron. She heads downstairs for her timed turn with a video game. Soon Link is done too. He dashes off to watch his sister play. The golden moment has passed. Or has it? Have I just moved into a different golden moment that I don’t recognize? The kitchen still smells of pies and there is a holiday feel in the air. But I don’t think it requires pies or holidays to make moments golden. It just takes someone pausing to love the treasures that they have, rather than running around in an attempt to find more.