We were lying in the Climbing Tree on Monday. I found this one branch that if I reclined on it just right, it actually felt really good on my back. (Hello? Am I 112 years old?) Olivia was conversing per usual about her life as a fairy in her tree house, and how she would not be going back to “our house in Williamsburg to live.” I was zoning out and thinking about getting Cheese Shop.
Side note: Fall is hands down the most perfect time in Colonial Williamsburg. The temperatures are warm enough to still eat outside but not so hot that you wonder why shade was not historical. And Fall is when people come back to Williamsburg, people who know it and love it and want to enjoy wine and cheese outside and not scream at each other in tri-cornered hats. I’m just saying. Christmas is beautiful and packed. Spring is lovely and flowering and baby lamb time. Summer is festive and concert-filled. But fall is pinch-me, I’m alive time, (especially if I have a new scarf and some bright colored JCrew skinny jeans, just dreaming…)
Then Olivia, describing her eminent ascent into the sky with her fairy wings attached to her Halloween costume of a Dress that Is Not Itchy (suddenly the Dorcas outfit is sounding refreshingly normal), intones that I will not be joining her because I am too heavy.
And I smiled because it has been a few long months of me using the “I’m too heavy” as an excuse for things – The Bounce House, the Climbing Nets at Busch Gardens, the Diving Board, the (thank you Lord) Zip Line.
So it’s natural that O concludes I will be to0 heavy to join her in the sky.
And then my heart kind of broke because I don’t want too be too heavy to go up in the sky. Can’t I be at least metaphorically light in the fantasy world?
It’s like the time Sophia asked “what does that noise mean , Mommy?” and imitated my deep sigh…
I don’t want to be too heavy.
But so often, I am. I bring heaviness into routines and into relationships and even into worship. Weighted stuff I’m carrying around from the past or from a constantly critical mind or from a fear of being disappointed. It pierces my Belief and my joy and my ability to trust, be present, and strap on some wings.
And tonight I was too heavy to allow Sophia to hang her homemade pumpkin decorations from our front porch ceiling. I couldn’t tolerate the tacky (because I normally have standards?!). And so there were tears and bath and bed and then regret and guilt and the realization that I might have missed another chance to go up into the sky. And the fear that soon, they might stop inviting me altogether.
Thank you for all the name suggestions! And for the ones that keep coming in the comments and via texts. I am overwhelmed with options. I thank you as does Shakira Cinderella Sloaney Bologna Simoney. Keep them coming!