I resisted. I held out for a long time. I wasn’t interested in some movie about Babies whose trailer had gone viral and was infecting everyone I know. But when Amy raved I gave in and hit play.
And in the very first seconds it won me over. I hit pause and called across the room to my sister: You have to see this!
The wonderful intense concentration of the two small children pounding with rocks. I’ve seen that look on my girls’ faces as they work at a task. And the squabble… I have seen that exact interaction play out between my two girls so any times. In fact yesterday morning Bella and Sophie were fighting over the doll that Bella has taken to calling Baby Jesus. As Mrs Darwin says, “reflect on St. Augustine’s assertion that the effects of original sin are quite obvious in babies, who are pretty selfish by nature.”
I am fascinated by watching other mothers in other parts of the world interact with their children. Stripping away all that is culturally familiar, I can suddenly more clearly see the universal features of motherhood.
Oh and it goes without saying the babies are so cute. My heart melted. I cannot wait to see this movie!
Sophie loved it too. Again and again and again.
It’s a mystery to my why people hold this cliche’ that motherhood (especially the stay-at-home kind) makes you dumb… Don’t they know how crafty and clever and creative mothers have to be??? They have to figure out toddlers, for Heaven’s sake!
Anyway, I happened to find this charming poem, and I thought of sending it your way – you can read it to the children on the next snowy day.
Snowflakes, by Clve Sansom
And did you know
That every flake of snow
That forms so high
In the grey winter sky,
And falls so far,
Is a bright six-pointed star?
Each crystal grows
A flower as perfect as a rose.
Lace could never make
The patterns of a flake.
No brooch
Of figured silver could approach
Its delicate craftsmanship. And think:
Each pattern is distinct.
Of all the snowflakes floating there �
The million million in the air �
None is the same. Each star
Is newly forged, as faces are,
Shaped to its own design
Like yours and mine.
And yet� each one
Melts when its flight is done;
Holds frozen loveliness
A moment, even less;
Suspends itself in time �
And passes like a rhyme.
Sorry about the typo, the author is obviously Clive Sansom.
thanks. Very pretty. We’ll be sure to remember it in tomorrow’s blizzard.