The sun was absolutely perfect. Just barely setting, sending shadows of gold all around, creating the ideal photo shooting environment. The boys were outside playing — it wasn’t too cold, and yet was chilly enough for big jackets.
I grabbed the camera and followed them around snapping pictures here and there. For a bit I found myself flat on the spring grass ground trying to get just the sweetest shot.
Push me, momma. Push me on the swing?
Little Elijah, in his puffy coat and remnants of spaghetti left on his face, couldn’t get up to the swing – the old toddler swing that he loved to sit in, the swing the swung high above the ground. I kept snapping pics. After all, it was so ideal.
In a minute, ‘Lijah. In a minute.
Momma. Momma, push me, please?
Just a minute.
Momma, please? Please? Push me?
This time I responded just a bit irritated.
Then it hit me. I was irritated? All because I wanted to take pictures when I should have been pushing him, my four year old, on the swing? I looked at him. I looked at that sweet face, that little face for only so long face, and I knew exactly what I needed to do.
I put the camera away. Lens cap on. In the house, on top of the piano, away.
And I walked back outside to my Elijah.
Elijah, do you want to get pushed on the swing now?
And he ran to me, much like Samuel did when I asked him if he wanted to rock in the chair, and told me he was so excited to get to swing.
He should have been swinging minutes earlier. On the first ask. Not the third.
Some memories, some memories are best without the picture.
With me. Totally there. Present.
And that? That’s why there are no pictures of Elijah on the swing.
I was pushing him. Laughing with him.
With the camera away.
if you have a moment, please hop on over to sisters in bloom to read my post over there — I wrote about the lessons learned through the time my husband was going through cancer treatment. Click to read Blooming in the Desert.