Albert Edelfelt – Boys Playing on the Shore
The hair wisps falling to floor, the faint buzz in our ears. A softness, my hand running over a knobby head. The flash of his eyes towards mine, a wincing smile aimed at my heart. “Mom, that pulls.” I apologize and slow my hand, I want to slow this to a dead stop. I comb downward, prayers flying upward for these boys of mine. “Are you done yet?” he queries. “That was only the 1/3rd of the haircut I say,” smiling, such a mom, sneaking in some math, “2/3rds left, the top, you know, and edges.” He waits, jumping up when I pull away, to shake off. “I got to get all the fur off of me!” and we laugh at a boy’s “fur”. I continue on through these three little men of mine, my eyes tearing up at this job that I usually despise and put off as long as I can. For some reason, this closeness to them, this looking in their eyes, touches me deeply. Hair swept, gathered, I step into the rain, and watch it float lazily down through the long grass. A gift for our feathered friends, a gift for my heart.