The kids brought acorns home from the park this weekend. They asked if they could make a display for the table, so I gave them a plate, and it brought September into the house. September always makes me five-years old all over again. White knee-high socks and the feeling of my new backpack over my shoulders. I can see my dad taking photos. My mum was there, fussing with something – my pigtails? that backpack? I don’t know, but she was right there, too. Nice and close because I was starting school that morning and I’d have to say goodbye. The sky was blue and smelled different because it was September.
I wonder where that photo is, but it doesn’t really matter because I remember it. I suppose it would be nice to have the photo to show the kids. It might not mean much to them now, although I suspect that later they might treasure it.
Around here, school starts in August so September doesn’t have the same rush to it. But it still feels new. The return of crispness always seems to bring newness with it. And this September brings more newness for our family. We’re sorting out what it means to be a family of five rather than four. New roles, new tasks, new habits, new worries. Sleep-deprived, yes, but we’re not floundered. The older generation has been a big help with that. Last month, we had the Spouse’s parents staying with us for a few weeks. I was still foggy in my postpartum days for most of their visit – they arrived on Plum’s Day #3 – and the extra sets of hands around the house were a gift. When two “big” kids got to be too much (for foggy-brained me), in swooped the in-laws and off they all went to the park. They even took them for day trips out of town so that I could nap – or at least cuddle our Plum – uninterrupted. Gold. Now my own parents have recently arrived here for a visit. With school now in, the rhythms of their visit will be different but it’s wonderful to share these still-early days with more experienced hands.
Strange how much there is to learn even third time around.
Some of it is just a case of remembering the newborn how-tos and some of it is sibling stuff, which is inevitable. A bit of jealousy. A bit of fussiness from restless nights. Noisiness all round and the parental fluctuations between being too demanding and being too lenient. We all muddle through, though sometimes it’s messy and awkward.
Like all learning, perhaps.
Back in June, we marked the end of the school year at church with a Sunday school celebration. I’d been learning to make balloon animals so I though that would make a fun addition to the service – it might even hold the kids’ attention in the sanctuary.
So I brought the balloons and the pump into church, and proceeded to set to work on a balloon flower. You can imagine it. First, would I over-inflate the balloon and pop it? Then, would I twist it right… or pop it? Or would it just…pop? As I stood at the front and made a variety of awkward balloony noises, the congregation sat there making tense faces at me. I wished I had a large mirror that I could hold up for them so that they could see their own faces. Instead, I stood there and tried to remember the instructions. I twisted and turned and fiddled and the balloon squeaked and squawked and, in the end, somehow it looked something like a flower. I set it on the communion table. It looked sort of beautiful there.
Which is why I did it.
I wanted to suggest that learning new things can be both awkward and beautiful. (I hadn’t quite predicted how perfectly the congregations’ faces would reflect that message back to me!) Learning can squawk and make us squirm – both those learning and those watching the learning happen. It can be like that when we keep kids in church during a service. Or when we get elders to pray instead of our minister. Or when we invite someone new to take the pulpit. Sometimes our efforts will fall flat or pop embarrassingly, but they can also show us surprising glimpses of grace and beauty, too.
