;)
Sunday
Jul252010
Singular, Multiplied
Sunday, July 25, 2010 at 8:36PM
I’m outside on my patio, cleaning up after the day’s fun, when I catch a glimpse of my daughter in the corner of my eye. I stop my day’s chores to watch her, spinning alone in the living room with a puppy and a monkey tied to an old string. She twirls and dances with her friends, oblivious to the fact that I’m watching her, absorbed in her own little world. Her face is full of wide eyed wonder as she watches the universe go zooming around her, and my heart is filled with admiration at this child that I too often fail to see for what she is…one child, a singular person, a creature of earth and of me and of God.
She moves uninterrupted in front of the tv screen, around the laundry basket, beside the couch, dancing to her own rhythm in a space that has opened up for her. No one is telling her to ohmygodmoveyouareblockingthemovie, no one is snatching the toys out of her hand because they’re not hers, no one is doing anything and she is wallowing in the silence. Her brothers have gone on vacation with their grandmother, and for the first time in her life, she isn’t the third child…she is the only child.
Our family has never had an only child. Our second baby came on the heels of our first baby; the only way I’ve ever seen my children is through each other’s eyes, and that is the most glorious way to come to know a person, by how they are perceived by the people who love them. Tonight, however, I watch her though the window, fancy and free, uninhibited and unrestrained, and I ache in my heart with the knowing that this child, raw and wild, is here every moment of the day, waiting for her moment to shine through.
The space she occupies is a vacuum that draws everything into it, helpless to resist her tiny little charms. The energy in the room yields for her, the air parts to make way for her dance, the dust that has settled into the crevices of our life joins her in raucous celebration of nothing. The void that is created by the absence of her brothers is merely her personal challenge to fill with grandeur and delight and unmitigated beauty. For two weeks, she will own her surrounds. She will know what is it that she can be when given the space, and I will bear witness to it from afar.
There is a difference between my children and my child. The difference lies in the way her blond curls bounce with the pounding of her feet, the way her waist bends when she has all the room in the world to spin it. The difference lies in the quiet moments they spend in their life apart from each other, allowed to find their own, unencumbered rhythm without scrutiny or consequence. The difference lies in the space they are given to spread their arms and just spin. The difference lies in their singularity, multiplied.
Each one of my children is also my child, unique to themselves. I can’t imagine my life without all three of them, and I can’t imagine their lives without each other. Having a family with three children is gloriously complicated and intricately unrelenting, and as I steal this private moment she’s having in the rarest of moments when no one is watching her, in the fragment of time when she is completely free, I am awe-struck by the simplicity of her perfection.
She moves uninterrupted in front of the tv screen, around the laundry basket, beside the couch, dancing to her own rhythm in a space that has opened up for her. No one is telling her to ohmygodmoveyouareblockingthemovie, no one is snatching the toys out of her hand because they’re not hers, no one is doing anything and she is wallowing in the silence. Her brothers have gone on vacation with their grandmother, and for the first time in her life, she isn’t the third child…she is the only child.
Our family has never had an only child. Our second baby came on the heels of our first baby; the only way I’ve ever seen my children is through each other’s eyes, and that is the most glorious way to come to know a person, by how they are perceived by the people who love them. Tonight, however, I watch her though the window, fancy and free, uninhibited and unrestrained, and I ache in my heart with the knowing that this child, raw and wild, is here every moment of the day, waiting for her moment to shine through.
The space she occupies is a vacuum that draws everything into it, helpless to resist her tiny little charms. The energy in the room yields for her, the air parts to make way for her dance, the dust that has settled into the crevices of our life joins her in raucous celebration of nothing. The void that is created by the absence of her brothers is merely her personal challenge to fill with grandeur and delight and unmitigated beauty. For two weeks, she will own her surrounds. She will know what is it that she can be when given the space, and I will bear witness to it from afar.
There is a difference between my children and my child. The difference lies in the way her blond curls bounce with the pounding of her feet, the way her waist bends when she has all the room in the world to spin it. The difference lies in the quiet moments they spend in their life apart from each other, allowed to find their own, unencumbered rhythm without scrutiny or consequence. The difference lies in the space they are given to spread their arms and just spin. The difference lies in their singularity, multiplied.
Each one of my children is also my child, unique to themselves. I can’t imagine my life without all three of them, and I can’t imagine their lives without each other. Having a family with three children is gloriously complicated and intricately unrelenting, and as I steal this private moment she’s having in the rarest of moments when no one is watching her, in the fragment of time when she is completely free, I am awe-struck by the simplicity of her perfection.
Reader Comments (41)
I was the third kid--so yeah, two weeks without teasing?
Heaven.
Wow. I wish you could write better.
I grew up a lonely child until I was 13 but it never really mattered to me: my face was stuck in the crevice of a book. It must be very difficult living under the constantly shifting shadows of brothers and sisters, seen only part of the time and in insufficient light when it happens. I can sympathize but it's impossible for me to empathize with that.
I'm just glad our daughter and her two children have been able to live with my wife and I; we have been able to give them all the singular attention they could ever ask for.
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Mr Lady and Momo Fali, Edwin Perello. Edwin Perello said: RT @mrlady: Because it's Sunday, which is the Lord's day, so, yeah, with the bleeding. http://whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2010/07/25/singular-multiplied/ [...]
Copy. Print. Save until she grows up. (Or until she's a mouthy teenager who thinks she knows everything) Present it to her.
But keep a copy for her kids.
Beautiful post; just lovely and touching. Intimate and wise.
*sigh* Beautiful...
oh yeah. i had a weird opportunity to have solo time with child 3 and then with child 4 when they were little. it's amazing -- for you and for them.
beautiful post.
I love your writing. You know this, right? But when you write about your children, it's... it's just a different thing altogether. It's like this burst of crystalline air that carves down and slices clean: cutting through the fog and obfuscation and the weight of language to create something intricate and radiant and unmistakably right.
I wish I could see things this clearly.
I've been reading your blog for over a year now and this has to be my favorite post you have written so far.
You have a gift and your words are a song to your readers.
This is gorgeous. I'm crying. Absolutely fabulous writing.
Awesome, awesome, awesome. I think that deserves several hugs and kisses.
XOXOX
RT @mrlady: Because it's Sunday, which is the Lord's day, so, yeah, with the bleeding. http://whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2010/07/25/singular-multiplied/
Why @MrLady makes me want to be just like her. The words...they amaze me. http://whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2010/07/25/singular-multiplied/
I agree! RT @MomoFali Why @MrLady makes me want to be just like her. http://whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2010/07/25/singular-multiplied/
Wow. Beautiful. Loving and wistful and a perfect moment out of time.
Sometimes I feel this way about my only child, but I think I take it for granted. Thank you for reminding me.
Singular, Multiplied: Seeing my children for what they are...each my child.Whiskey in My Sippy Cup : A Mediocre...... http://bit.ly/ck7xRZ
We have 3 girls. our last daughter came home a month ago. She was a great surprise. This was beautiful.
Worth saying in public: the answers to the universe lie within this post.
This is SO beautiful!
you are such a master moment catcher. I loved that slice of yr world. I love the way you tell us things. Thank you for sharing that- it was so pretty. xo
So much I would give to be able to conjure words with the magic you have.
This post was breathtaking.
I love this. A lot.
I think this is your best and most beautiful piece of writing yet.
Dude. BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!!! wow.
RT @mrlady: Because it's Sunday, which is the Lord's day, so, yeah, with the bleeding. http://whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2010/07/25/singular-multiplied/
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Nachama, emma m. emma m said: Singular, Multiplied: Seeing my children for what they are...each my child.Whiskey in My Sippy Cup : A Mediocre...... http://bit.ly/ck7xRZ [...]
Love this. Something a parent of an only doesn't feel, but still can understand.
Book.
http://www.whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2010/07/25/singular-multiplied/
You are unfreakinbelievable! You take my breath away and I long to find the words you have the courage to speak... wow! Who are you Mr.lady? Nevermind... simply... thank you.
Lovely story - I can't wait to have one of my own.
Simply beautiful. You do this moment complete justice. Thank you for reminding me to keep my eyes open for these moments.
Shit like this keeps me coming back to your blog. Helps me appreciate my gaggle.
oh. beautiful.
My daughter is 8 years older than the middler, and he is 4 years older than the baby. 16-7-3 is the age span. And they are "my kids" and "my children" and "my spawn" and "gah those creatures that drive me crazy." But every once in a while I see the individual personality of each kiddo and it just takes my breath away. I took the youngest to the zoo by himself while the others were at school and it was just amazing to see his reactions and joy WITHOUT the gravity of his brother yanking him in. I do love this post.
really really gorgeous. i felt like i could picture everything you described.
You're writing a book, right? Tell me you're writing a book. Because a gift like this needs to be shared, yo.
I m with rougie I need the book .!! Beautiful post .
thank you, no my middle one, the one with the golden curly hair says, thank you
"Having a family with three children is gloriously complicated and intricately unrelenting..."
Yes. Exactly. Perfect.