This evening I watched as my 5 year old found inspiration from a 25 year old Polaroid of 7 Cabbage Patch dolls lined up on my mom's porch swing. She was giddy when she saw it and immediately wanted to glue it to a piece of construction paper and bring it to her teacher. She wanted to call Grandma and tell her to bring all those Cabbage Patches the next time she visits. Thirty minutes later I knelt next to her at her bed as she was deep in her creative process, designing a card in honor of this special treasure I had found earlier in a box of old photos. With her Dad's help on how to spell Cabbage Patch she then used her own budding spelling skills to write "I Love Cabbage Patch Dolls" and draw each of the seven dolls, all sitting on the swing, along with images of me (Mom), Dad, Ava (big sister), Jerry & Garcia (2 cats--one with a spot on her head), and brother Harrison (okay, I had to remind her about him).

Quietly kneeling next to her I was so fascinated by her energy, her intent, the pure felicity of this creative process. She wanted to pin her masterpiece to the cork board hanging over her bed. I just love this child's spirit!

After tucking her in bed (which took much cajoling) I came downstairs to find my 8 year old daughter just home from gymnastics. She was brimming with energy herself, and giggling as she told a story. For some reason she thought it would be a good idea to put two Halloween stamps (the ink kind, not the sticky kind) on her forehead. Usually the girls get to stamp their hands for a good workout, and to be honest, they usually end up on their cheeks the next morning because they nestle up in bed, head perched on hands in prayer position. But to put the stamps right smack on her forehead...that's just silly. And she thought so too! That's why she did it. She's 8! The free abandon that comes with being a child! I love to observe it, be in the presence of it, even try to adopt it in the most appropriate way every once in a while.

The dichotomy of it, the yin and yang of my life right now, is to witness that joy alongside my son, who does not have an active imagination. Creativity is not his thing. He has never role played, never been a pirate on a ship, a dinosaur hunting his prey, a race car driver on the tail of his opponent. I struggle to find the joy in his life--what gives him the inspiration to leave the world around him and frolic in a world of his creating. He wants it, I can tell. Of course, he doesn't really know what he's missing. He finds every form to fill out, every math sheet to complete, he wants to text message his aunt, email his friend's mom, and check tomorrow's weather online. I do catch him once in a while cheering himself on as he plays basketball in the driveway. But more often, like today, I watched as he sat in the front lawn waiting for the mailman, or laid on the trampoline watching the trees sway in the wind.

I want so badly to know that his experience as a child is as wondrous and carefree as my daughters'. Antonyms for light-hearted are burdensome and heavy. I fear that that describes his experience more. I believe in my mother's heart that one day this is all going to make sense to me, that he faced so many challenges as a young child in order to get him to the place where his spirit can soar. It's just so hard to see him go through it now, as a little 6-year old boy. And am I guiding him properly? Am I supporting him and nurturing him the way he needs to be supported and nurtured?

I know I am doing that. That boy knows how much I love him. And so do my girls. We all have our own path. In the woods behind my house growing up there were paths that were wide and worn, free from dangerous limbs or bulging tree roots. The occasional puddle that would get you muddy one day or offer you a chance at ice skating the next. And there were other paths that were more rugged, more mysterious. It was a bigger commitment to explore these paths, and we weren't quite sure where they led because not many kids had gone there before us. We all found amazing treasures and wonderlands in those woods.

We don't all have the same choices to make. Some of us are naturally drawn to the wide path, and some of us get hung up on the briers that line the narrow path. But I've got to believe they all lead us to where we are supposed to go. In our case, although the journey is so important, that break in the woods is something I look forward to finding with my son. And my girls will encounter their own individual obstacles as well, and I plan on being there then too. I guess I just wish that I could take myself, as an adult, into those imaginative lands where flowers bloom as tall as people and rainbows abound, if even for a little while. I'd be sure to take my son with me.