I Am So Thankful for The White Rabbit

"before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, "Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!"

Last weekend my parents visited us, mainly to watch, for the first time, Aidan's soccer game, which was also the Tornado's final game of the season. Thanks to Murphy's Law, the game was rained out.  Undaunted, we enjoyed a nice relaxing day at the house, watching football and our backyard chickens scratching for worms in the drizzle. It turned out to be be a day I will never forget.

For a little while, my mom, my daughter, and I sat in the sun room.  Before my eyes, my patient Mom taught little Sophia Ruth how to knit, just like how my Grandma Ruth taught me when I was her age. Every knit stitch was creating a treasured memory for all three of us!  Sophia is now the proud owner of a teeny purple pink purse stuffed with lip gloss, barrettes, and miniature tea cups.

Earlier that morning, when checking in the coop, I discovered that two of our newest pullets (young hens) were missing.  Fast forward.  After a break from the knitting lesson, I noticed the lovely "gift" our cat, no doubt, brought to the bottom of the deck stairs.  Half-of-a-hen was carefully placed for all to admire. Thanks, Rocket.

I tell my husband there is a "clean up on aisle 2."  He knows exactly what to do. But before he steps out to tackle the unglamorous task, we all stand at the window together to admire the carnage while discussing the mortality of chickens and how the kids are use to this aspect of chicken-raising. I add that I should have known Rocket was up to something when he was purring in my face and kneading on my belly in the early morning of a full moon.  No rest for the weary.

My husband steps out the door.  The boys retreat back to the tv.  Us girls head to the kitchen.  We had taken only a few paces away from my husband when she asked me, "Does he know about the dead chicken?"

The question hung in the air.  My mind could not grasp it.  I cannot express how much I wish it was my daughter who asked me this question.

There is forgetfulness, as us moms are all too aware of.  But then there is this. This was an unwanted, uninvited, indescribable moment when I saw her for the first time, and thankfully for only a fleeting moment, as a hollow seashell in the sands of time.  A memory misfire stole her away from me for a moment.  Indescribable moment.

The moment passed, she oblivious to its significance (thankfully), but the odd question gnawed at me for the rest of the day.  The teeny purple pink knitted purse takes on a whole new precious meaning now.  I am so thankful for the memory of watching her teach my daughter, her granddaughter, how to knit.  Cast on, knit stitch, drop a stitch, catch a stitch, cast off.  Creating something, anything, together. Before it gets too late.

I am thankful for you every day, White Rabbit.  And you cannot leave me as long as I hold your Golden Key.

xoxo
Alice (aka: Breeze)