Out Of The Mouths of Babes (Tara Taylor Quinn)

The storybroads - or at least half of them - seem to be having a theme going on. We're starting new lives! Kind of a cool concept, to know that at any stage of life, any age, we can begin again. Start anew. It's scary. And hard. There's a lot of pain involved. And yet, the whole idea of 'new' opens up unending possibility. I think back over the past months of Maggie's beginnings. She bought a snow plow. Remember how excited she was? And then we waited with her until the first snow. Froze with her while she dealt with it. And what about the great rescue escapade? And the things that go bump in the night? Who knows what Anne and I have in store?

I've been resisting my new start. Looking back. Hurting so badly. And in the midst of my contemplation the babies around me have been teaching me. Working with me without my having asked. Without my even knowing they were at work. And isn't that how life works? From the most innocuous, least expected places, we are given exactly what we need to go on. To move forward into this great experience of life.

That's Taylor Marie. Like me, she had to leave behind the only life she'd known. When she first arrived in her new, very strange town, she had extreme culture shock. She went from living with her best friends, to living with a sad mama. And she had to go potty in grass!!! A true Arizonian desert baby, Taylor had never met grass - or at least, had only run in it briefly on a couple of dog park adventures. Certainly she'd never met naturally growing wild grass. She wasn't all that fond of the idea of squatting and letting those blades tickle her belly. And then there was the snow. Now that was a trip. She stared. Stuck her nose in it. Looked back at me. And trotted out and pottied. She was acclimating to this new world! When she first came she wouldn't eat treats. Or chew her bones. She just wanted to be close to her mama. To security. Or maybe she knew she had a big job to do, watching out for the woman who was supposed to be watching out for her. In any case, without my even being aware, Taylor slowly started to take to her new life. One day she started running through the house, a crazy girl. And then she was lying on the back of the sofa chewing a dingo bone. Suddenly the treats that had been lying around started to disappear. And yesterday, she made three new friends. I dropped her off at the home of a woman I'd met (so maybe her mama has a new friend, too) and when I went to pick her up, she was in the middle of the floor playing with two of the three poodle girls who live there. And when it was time to leave, she pranced over to her mama and was in a great mood the rest of the day - and gobbled her dinner when she got home. She's been barking and carrying on ever since. She's come back to life. And telling her mama that it's okay - she can come back to life, too. It's not so bad out there. Nothing - no one - will ever replace the love lost, the friends lost, but there are other great friends waiting to be met. We just have to put ourselves out there.

That's William Wright. My little Bubby. In my old life he was the light on the distant horizon. My pure joy. And so far away. In my new life, he lives right around the corner. Well, it's a forty-five minute corner, but that's a lot better than 1700 miles away. This little guy works hard to do things that most of us take for granted, but you wouldn't know from the smile on his face, or the laughter that erupts up out of his belly, that he's working at all. He's teaching his Aunt Tia about endurance, and finding the joy rather than the difficulty. Every chore he tackles, like trying to keep his trunk steady and his ankles strong so he can walk, all the sit ups he does every single night (with the help of his daddy and mama and sissies) he engages in full heartedly and generally with a smile on his face. I had dinner with him on Saturday. And got to hold him a lot. He and I shared some chocolate cake and ice cream. (He had the ice cream, I had the cake) and this little guy took every bite with a fervor that was contagious. Eating dessert had never been such a deep and consuming event. Finding joy in the little things - in everything. In whatever is in front of you at the moment. That's what Bubby is teaching me. And when those big blue eyes look at me, and that little hand rubs across his belly, signing the word 'please' my heart almost explodes with joy. He's communicating with us now. I can't wait to hear all the wisdom he's going to impart.

This is Claire. This little girl is the most independent, precocious little tyke I've ever met. She has her own mind, and at two, she knows fully what it's telling her at all times. We know it, too. She's not shy about sharing. Whether she's pleased with you or not, she tells it like it is. Used to be, when I'd go to her house, she'd check me out. I'd always get hugs and kisses, but she was more interested in getting back to whatever she'd been doing before my arrival interrupted her. On Saturday, when I walked in her house, she glanced up, saw me, and screamed, "Aunt Tia" in her high, sweet voice and came running. A couple of times she came over and presented her bottom to me - telling me in her silent way that she was going to sit in my lap and please would I pick her up. And at dinner, out of the blue, this little independent 'I do it' being, asked me to feed her. Together we emptied her plate. I don't kid myself that Claire suddenly needs me. To the contrary, this wise and knowing baby somehow knew that I needed her. I believe she knows, too, that if and when she ever does need me, I'm her slave for life. And when life challenges her some day, when it doesn't understand that different beat she hears, I'm going to be there, reminding her to listen to her heart, telling her the stories of the little girl who always knew, reminding her that that little girl is always inside her, guiding her. Encouraging her to trust herself and her very different spirit, whether the world ever gets her or not. Because this is all that Claire has taught me.

This is Emma. Here she's a princess. And she makes a fabulous princess. Some days she's a horsewoman. She's a scientist in goggles, a birthday girl with chocolate cake smeared all over her face, and student of the week at her school for gifted kids. She's a big sister, a pianist, and a Pokemon character. She wonders about thunder, and dinosaurs, and bugs. She spent hours trying to split a rock to see what was inside, and surmised that if you put salt water on a rock it would clean it. She makes easter bunnies and colored an egg. She has a garden. And she's a whiz at computer games. She can name countries and continents, speak Spanish and recite factoids about United States presidents. She analyzes, theorizes, and surmises - about every single thing that crosses her path every second of her day. Emma is thirsty for knowledge. And her life is blessed simply by her keeping her eyes and mind open to every thing that crosses her path. Her life is full and exciting whereever she goes and whatever she does, because she's always searching for what's there. And this is what Emma's taught me over these past weeks. To be eager for whatever lies ahead. To want to know. To figure out. And to trust that there will always be more to know. More to figure. That life will not be empty.

So...bring on the new life. I might step with trepidation. I'll surely look back and fall down. But I know to keep my mind open for the friends and love and experiences coming my way, to know that they WILL come, to always look for the joy, to trust my heart and to never stop looking for what lies ahead, to learn and seek know.

Straight from the mouths of my babes.