The toe-curling moment when Gollum and Bilbo plunge into a game of Riddles nears its end when Bilbo asks, “What have I got in my pocket?”
“What’s it got in it’s nassty little pocketes?” Gollum sputters over and over.
The ring of doom effortlessly and thinly veiled for a time in a hobbit’s pocket.
Last week my son and I were at the park. He swung back and forth, and I tried to be attentive to his play while also scrolling through the last 532 tweets. Must stay on top of the world’s happenings, you know.
I was unsuccessful.
“Mom!” my son cried, “Momma, momma!”
I barely heard because I was tweeting a picture of us playing at the park.
“Pocket!” he bellowed. I looked up. My son was pointing at the phone.
Down went the square of power, slid into my pocketses. A thin cotton strip of fabric protected me and my son from the happenings of the world.
Pockets are today’s cleft in the rock, safe places to put the things we love.
If King David wrote today he might be a CEO or a president. His Psalm might sounds like this:
In the recession he will hide me in his suit pocket; high above my enemies, safely stored near his heart.
This month I’ve spent considerable time alone with my son. It is a gift to my husband so he can work on his new book project. I take delight in watching his narrative grow, knowing that I have supplied the time for him to tend to these words.
He writes, and I slide and jump at the Bounce House.
He sets up new online communities, and I take my son to bi-lingual story time.
He tweets and reads, and I wipe pizza sause off my two-year-old’s hands.
Soon this month’s gift of time will be up, and my husband and I will again share parenting 50/50.
When I see my little one less, and push to get more work done, I want to carry a memory of this month with me. I want to remember the easy pattern of play, work and rest my son showed me. I want to recall how a long list of errands without slides and swings and swimming makes any soul weary.
In Tim Hansel’s When I Relax I Feel Guilty, he suggests all who feel guilty when resting to carry a toy around, in their pockets.
A toy lizard will be my choice, spongy and flexible, green with cheaply painted black stripes. I’ve got it waiting with my wedding rings in a little white cup.
A reminder that my son knows how to play.
And I’m still learning.
image credit: photobucket.com