It was 4:15 when we realized we had to get to the post office before it closed at 5. Half the family was at that moment heading out to split wood, and the other half to work on building a dog house. That left me as the errand runner and seeing the situation I said I’d bring Abel, our 2-year-old along for the ride. It seemed the safest move for our active boy.
Quite a while later, after a diaper change, searching for one tiny shoe and bundling my toddler, we were finally in the big van, the vehicle that has his carseat. I strapped him in, struggling with the twisted top buckle straps and he happily swung his dangled legs, thrilled that we were on an adventure. “Mama Go? Abel Go!”
We sang and laughed and when I saw the clock I drove a little faster. In the meantime I had added another hopeful stop to squeeze in, all before closing time. We parked in front of the post office and I ran around the van to crawl up and unbuckle his tight buckles- so tight from a fat winter coat- and grabbed the hefty box to send. Now I didn’t realize that I had parked next to a great and mighty tree, but Abel did. And he had to touch it, and walk around it, and look up at it. All while I tried to coax his tiny legs to move in my direction so we could keep this show on the road. I held his hand, while juggling the heavy package and we made our way up the ramp to our old, idyllic post office.
But did you know our post office has deep basement windows with iron grates above them with lots of litter blown down through the bars? Abel did. Abel thought this was most curious. “Cup. Cup. Cup?” So I took a look myself and it was a sight to see. And it made me wonder who’s picnic had blown away right into this window well.
We dropped off the package and checked our mailbox and made our way back to the van. I carried him, and we made good time, but those car seat buckles are such a bother, twisted and tight and I realized how long it had been since I had buckled him myself, always able to pass that duty off on an older sibling.
We made it to our final destination with four minutes to spare. I walked in the store just in time for them to tell me, as the door bells jangled, that they would be closing in just a moment. I nodded triumphant, being we had made it across the threshold. I found our item quickly, but Abel had found a life-sized stuffed puppy even more quickly. Which delighted him to no end.
As we walked back to the big van, and I reconciled having to wrangle his buckles yet again, I looked at my little boy. He was so happy to be out with me. He was so glad to tell me all he saw. “More guy, mom? More guy!” That meant he saw another person driving a car past us. “Yes, Abel. More guy. Lots and lots of guys!” “Oh,” he repeated with a nod, “Lots and lots of guys.”
I drove us home slowly, thinking through our whole adventure. And how this one hour span of errands with my two-year-old was the perfect summation of life with kids, any number of kids with any task at hand. There is no way around it. And I believe God intended it to be so. God would ask me, “were you going to just miss that great and mighty tree you parked next to? I wanted you to see it. Did you see all the human souls you were flying by on the road? I wanted you to see all those guys too…” And on and on it goes.
Maybe that is the exact purpose of a child. To slow us down. To remember to see the wonder all around.
We got home and then I realized the other truth: a family is a force and kids grow up to be incredible contributors. More logs had been split in the woodshed and there was pounding coming from the barn, a dog house taking shape. Thanks to Abel, I slowed down long enough to recognize the wonder of it all.
