Silence in the Walking

So, Nick is 13. All the way. He's cute and funny and has a great smile. His little eyes really twinkle. His voice has changed, his skin is different and he listens to music. A lot.

And our drives to football practice are now silent. He isn't mad. He just doesn't talk. And I pull the "let's see how long HE can last if I don't say anything" game. And he can last--the entire 7 miles (yes, I've clocked it). And I'm the one who is miserable. Lesson learned. Initiate the conversation or sing with Mariah. I grew up with brothers; gosh, I walked the Trail with David. And he didn't always talk. In fact, I think he preferred the silence (Maybe he was praying, for that is the ONLY time I "like" silence). I should remember how pleasant the quiet walks actually were, how you could hear the leaves crinkling and the wind moving the trees. When Katie accompanied you, often, you couldn't hear those forest sounds because, well, there was so much to say!

We sang our way through Irene and heeded Daddy-O's request to "blow the rain to Texarkana!" Irene wreaked havoc on much of New Jersey, but the Gale family fared well in the. . . gale. After their experience with Katrina, Jacob and Nick thought the category 1 hurricane was kind--our house didn't flood and our power was only out for a day!

And Ellie. Like riding a bike or popping up on waterskis, she just stood up and walked today. Really walked. Lapped the sofa. Brought us keys, stuffed chickens and her "CCCCOOOOWWWW." She gripped her little ice cream purse Mamalise gave her, and decided today, our official Gale Pajama Day (in honor of the final Friday of summer!), would be her Walking Day. 

Oh precious one. This is so fun! Each of my kids seems to be in a bright spot in their trail. Steve and I are the luckiest to get to watch them become themselves. 

"Wherever you are now call it perfection and know that in this moment it is really enough."