They Have Moved Me

We've survived enough Black Weekends to know the drill. I no longer stew as we idle for up to an hour by the hospital entrance, waiting for our one minute dose of Daddy, a speedy exchange of cold dinner and good night kisses. Now I come prepared to wait.

Last night, a half hour past bedtime, the kids and I traveled to the edge of the Narnian world and back on the Dawn Treader, all without unbuckling. We blasted our favorite songs and sang footy-pajama-loose and fancy free.

Daddy strode from the sliding doors at 8:30 p.m., not even halfway through his 30-hour shift, eyes meeting mine to apologize, smile widening only as he glimpsed the faces that make it worthwhile.

"Daddy, Daddy! I went twimmin! I went underwatah!" Dani bombarded.
"Me too!" Caed echoed. "And we finished the Captain Underpants book, and Harold and George got into trouble again, and there were robots!"

We squeezed in a record number of "good night"s and "love you"s into sixty seconds, and off we went, back to work or into bed.

On the way home, one of our new favorites shuffled to the top of the play list.

"Mommy, I like dis song! It's moob da mountain one!" Dani squealed.

"I like it too, Dani. Are you guys gonna sing it with me?" I invited.

Caed piped in, "I will, Mommy! I'm a really good singer. I think I might be in a show and up on a stage to sing some day."

"Really?" I said. "Well, I know I love hearing you sing."

"You don't hear me most of the time, Mom. Because I practice when I'm all by myself. I like to sing songs when I'm lonely."

He continued, "I like to sing the sad songs especially. Well, I mean, not the sad ones, but they sound not like rock stars, but a little bit sweet. Like you think they are sad when they start singing, but then they just get to be sweet."

I turned up the song and listened to their sweet, only a little bit sad, not-like-rock-star voices.

You call me a mountain.
And I call you the sea.
I'll stand tall and certain
And watch you swallow me.
You can move me, if you want to.
You can move a mountain.
You can move a mountain.
You can move me, if you want to.
You can move everything.
You can move everything.*

And I, the once tall and certain mountain of a corporate muckety-muck, was reduced to salty tears as their wavering voices lapped at my mother-heart.
They have moved me.
Indeed.
To the very place I was meant to be.

*Lyrics from Ingrid Michaelson's song The Mountain and the Sea.

::

Shared as part of Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky, where we are encouraged to pay attention to and give thanks for the small moments that move us in big ways.