The air is a little crisp outside, as I heard everyone out of the house and into the fresh morning to start our daily walk to the bus stop. We step over red dirt until the footpath appears and, well, one of my three-year-olds suddenly freezes, arms splayed wide, signaling for us all to stop.
I and the other little one tiptoe closer, our eyes searching the open space for what catches her attention. A ladybug caught her eye.
“Shh… it’s a kangaroo!” she whispers, pointing at two calmly munching their breakfast a short distance away. Carefully, we all hunker down, my knees complaining loud and thunderous in resistant cracks as I inch downward toward the ground. One, two, three my jelly legs could only handle so much, so I collapse into a fetal position while the kids quietly soaked in their kangaroo moment. I watch them smiling through the chaos.
Before long, it’s time to be getting along, so I gently corral them all toward the bus stop. But life, as it does, throws another obstacle in the path: the sandpit swing set. I do my best “whisper yell” of explanation and inform them there is no time to stop. Pouting faces linger for a moment, but we move on. Little feet we move.
Having deposited my eldest at the bus, the walk home commences. My twins start to bound over cracks in the path, yelling, “LEAP!” as they spring forward in exuberant energy. Instantly, their attention is diverted to something much smaller: a worm.
Down they squat once more, little thighs strong and determined in an effort to stare this worm down as it inches along the dirt. “NO! We want to watch the worm go home!” one of them protests, and I sigh, knees cracking once again, this time as I bend down to their level. We watch together quietly amazed.
We watch together, speculating most imaginatively about the possible residences of the worm, and, of course, making jokes about the imaginary eyes and nose, plus the “farts” and “poos” with which they insist it must be equipped. Time stretches and goes more slowly, but in that moment, it does not matter. Their curiosity is infectious, their imagination boundless.
They teach me how much wonder and sheer delight there is in small things-the tiniest of creatures, the smallest of details. Their eyes sparkle with excitement; their laughter reverberates as each new discovery leads to another adventure, big or small. They show me joy everywhere.
Later, I watch them ride their scooters down the sidewalk, helmets firmly on, and I’m reminded of the lessons the tiny moments teach me: slow down, observe, let them guide the journey when time allows. There is always a person who guide you to right path of life .
Life with little ones is a mix of chaos, giggles, and endless curiosity. But it’s also a world of pure imagination, delight, and the kind of joy that can only be derived from seeing life through the eyes of a child. These are the mornings I treasure-the ones when we stop, crouch, and really notice the world together. It’s just a simple reminder that, sometimes, slowing down is not only okay, but it’s necessary. There is a whole world of wonder in letting them lead, and I plan on following a lot more often. These moment make me happy I feel so lucky I learn so much from my life but never stop hoping I still remember how suffer alone now I see myself change happy.
