Looking Down

It finally feels like we might have escaped the cold spells that randomly decided to plague us this year. One side-effect of this warmer, more beautiful weather is that the kids want to go outside. All the time. Every day.

I do not want to go outside. At least not most of the time. Because A) Allergies + Pollen = No fun and B) Sweat.

But I do it. I go outside with them. They ride bikes and climb trees and I push swings and toss baseballs at bats wielded by children without the hand-eye coordination to make contact. But we still pretend there are homeruns and go flailing about the yard while imaginary crowds go wild. We blow bubbles. We play with chalk on the street.

We laugh.

And sometimes I look down.

The other day I was outside with Joshua and Emma, half-hating it because it was 86 degrees and dear god why isn’t the pool open yet there is sweat running down my boobs but also half-loving the feeling of the sun on my face and knowing that the kids were just so happy to be outside.

I looked down and noticed that I was standing in a patch of clover and it made me think of Daddy.

He had a knack for finding four-leaf clovers. This uncanny ability to look down and spot them without even trying. As a little girl, I was always in awe. It was like he was making magic for me.

I never had that particular skill. I had a knack for getting stung in the face by the bees flying around in the clover. (True story.)

Monday when we were outside, I looked down and there, in the middle of a sea of green weeds, were two four-leaf clovers. And then I found two more on Wednesday. They were all just staring up at me, begging to be plucked out of the ground. I didn’t even have to look very hard.

It was magic.

In two days I’ve found more four-leaf clovers than I’ve ever found in all of my 32 years.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about Daddy lately, a lot of talking in therapy. Remembering.

It’s sounds weird but I almost feel like these four-leaf clovers are Daddy’s way of looking down and smiling on me. Just a reminder of his presence in my life even now that he’s gone.

Now when we go outside, I don’t dread it quite as much. I mean, I still loathe the sweating, but now I keep my eyes open.

I push Emma on the bike. I talk to Joshua about how fast he can ride. I play. And then I steal a quiet moment to look down through the clover knowing that one day soon they’ll start looking with me and it’ll be my turn.

I’ll be the one to make the magic.