Mission to the Moon

On a walk to the park last night, we were gazing up at the beautiful, full moon. It was much larger than usual, silver-dollar size, and hung just above the low foothills. Abby noticed its exceptional size. "It's bigger tonight, Mama. It's closer to us." We continued on, admiring it as it poked its gleaming face around chimneys and above rooftops. On the way back home, the sky was an ashen gray as the twilight hours settled in around us. The moon was the only thing visible yet, as the night sky wasn’t yet dark enough for the smaller luminosity of the stars. It was swathed in a puddle of yellow-green haze, its reflection fusing with the grayish-blue of twilight. My inclination was to sing "Moon River," but not recollecting more than the first two words of the song, I soon forgot the idea.

As we continued walking, Abby and I were again overtaken by its prominence. “Look how large and beautiful that moon is, Abby!” She gasped whimsically, "Mommy, I wish I could go to the moon like the Berenstain bears," referring to The Berenstain Bears on the Moon, a frequent read in our home. Reflecting on her childish whim, I said, "Well, maybe when you grow up, you’ll become an astronaut someday, and then you can do that; you can go to the moon.” Always the pragmatist, I couldn't just pretend with her for a moment, taking a mock trip to the moon in our imaginations; it just wasn’t my first inclination. Never is, usually.

The more I processed the notion of my precious child leaving Planet Earth, out of my protective grasp, and launching off into outer space, I became a little overcome with the sudden grief of it. I quickly replied, "But I would sure miss you when you went!" She smiled serenely and replied, "Well, I would wait for you to go, too, Mama -- you and Essie and Daddy." My heart was a pond of joyous warmth.

I just love that she recognizes her little family unit and that she is at an age where she just adores being part of it. When does this change? I hope never.