Apparently that means I don't write. Something to look into.
Yesterday the boys and I caught an early bus to Malibu and wandered all day at little-boy-pace through Solstice canyon. Not once did I say "hurry up, the frozen foods are melting!" or "get down from there, you'll break something" or "could you please move it, we're late!" In fact, I was blessedly quiet. We caught tadpoles, built frog houses in the stream (and caught a frog to try one out--he liked it, but it's a buyer's market and we couldn't get him to commit), found a snakeskin and a real live snake, followed the tracks of deer high up into the hills until we found the deer themselves, splashed under waterfalls, collected rocks, got wet and cold and muddy and scraped up and bruised and giddy, threw pebbles into the water for HOURS, were dinosaurs for a little while, were happy. Riding home on the bus, my filthy, soaked, and contented boys snugged against me, Xir said: "I always want to be in the wilderness. That was the best day of my life."
I had one of those moments where I woke up and realized that this is LIFE. I looked into his eyes--this person, my son--and really smiled at him, wanting to remember this moment. And then he looked back at me and said:
"You are the thing that makes me love people."