pockets

I found a crumbled up leaf in Henry's pocket, folding the laundry early Sunday morning.  I smiled remembering the day before and laughed to myself because I'm not one of those 'check the pockets before throwing it in the wash' kind of moms.

*

Wyatt had been asking to fly a kite for the last month or so.  It's a hard thing for a 5 year old to get though, it needs to be windy but not too windy that you rip the kite and you don't want to make a special trip for a day when it looks like a downpour is inevitable.  "It's just not a good day to fly a kite, Wu" came out more often than I want to remember.

But Saturday was deemed the perfect day.

And Wyatt mastered it within minutes.  His kite was so high among the clouds that he ran out of string.  He'd run along with it, begging the kite to 'chase' after him.  He was the leader and the kite followed religiously.

Henry on the other hand, took to a style all his own.  He laid down on the trampled grass and took to just watching his kite float among the clouds, a happy gaze in his eyes.  He'd fold his body in as the sun went under the clouds, only to stretch out again when the sun peeked through once more.

Edy, my sweet little Edy, she'd run with her kite, letting it bump up and down as it bounced off the grass with each tug from her string.  She couldn't get her kite up in the air, so she'd borrow one brother's.  She watched the boys carefully, she knew to not let go or we'd lose the kite.  She was sucking every bit of that morning up; learning, processing, growing.

 

I stepped back from the scene wishing I had my camera, but I didn't... and it's OK,

 

it's burned into my heart, into my soul.

I slipped that memory right into my pocket.  It's there and I promise, it's not going anywhere.

Like I said, I'm not one for emptying pockets.