Little Dreamer

Harrison is by no means a morning person.  He takes a good hour or more to wake up, and beware to the person who tries to be in-his-face-and-cheerful.  The reward for your efforts will be at most a tantrum and tears, and at the very least a firm "NO!"  There are exceptions to this rule.  Some mornings he wakes and shouts a cheerful, singsong "Good morning!" when you open his door, then gallops into our main rooms ready to take on the day.  But most days he needs that hour, and I am wholly convinced that he will be a coffee drinker when he is old enough to enjoy its effects.
This morning Harry gathered his blankets and milk, laid down on the edge of our dining room rug, and stared out the sliding glass door at the world outside.  I gently asked him what he was doing, and he said "Birds.  Hear them?  Pool.  Hear it?  Mmmmmmm," and then sighed contentedly.  His quiet moments convince me that beneath his exterior of constant movement, climbing, running, galloping, clever antics and wicked sense of humor, our boy is a dreamer and a thinker.  In a world where it seems children need a constant onslaught of toys, video games, and television to amuse them, Harry chooses to gaze out the window and listen to the birds calling across the yard.  He would happily reside in our backyard, coming inside only for food and water, if we let him.  He is a child who appreciates quiet places, the sight of bugs flitting back and forth in a shaft of late afternoon sunlight, and the joy of blowing dandelion seeds into the wind. 
My only hope is that we can nourish his quiet side against the tide of activities, the Pied Piper's call of the glowing square screens, and the ever increasing technology and marketing so cleverly designed to suck kids in.  And at the same time I recognize the need for our children to compete in a society where those things are the norm.  I think living where we do, within minutes of farms and open space, mountains and rivers, gives us an edge in creating that balance. 
And on the other hand, while living here gives us access to those quiet places, I recognize that it also limits our access to diversity of people, culture, and custom.  We'll need to work extra hard to expose our children to the differences that exist, the nuances of character and beliefs that work together to create a rich texture of life in our world. 
This parenting thing, it's tough.  For now, we're going to get dressed and head outside, where the sunshine beckons and the day promises to be hot.  And while we're watching the bugs, inspecting the new plants that grow taller each day, and talking about all of the different species in nature, I hope that Harry begins to understand that our individual differences are what make us stronger as a whole, whether we're bugs, plants, or people.