Little Gestures

Aspen, my 5-year-old has her own camera. It's our old camera that malfunctions only when you're singing over the baby's first birthday cake, or the bride is being kissed for her first time as a wife, or when you're driving past an AWESOME item to post on "fail blog."

Anyway, she left yesterday with Rodney and Jeremiah and a whole slew of teenagers to hit up Sonshine Festival over in MN. Her entire year is spent looking forward to "camping." And this year, she would have. . . a camera. *insert angelic singing voices* We plugged in the charger so it could be all ready, but the group ended up leaving in a whirlwind. The camera was left behind. I called Rodney right away to deliver the news, but Aspen was too excited to get on the road and didn't want it.


The pictures she takes could never be labeled as "good." But they're from her perspective (looking up at people, lots of items on the ground, etc), and because of that, I like to occasionally peek at what she's shot. When I picked up the camera yesterday, I was surprised to find not new pictures, but a new video.

Once I saw what the video was of, I vaguely remembered actually having had helped her set the camera up to film it. And I should remember. Because it was a video of me.

I was talking on the phone, pacing around, picking up toys, passing my time efficiently.

The phone call was an important one. A friend of mine is going through a really rough spot in her life. I've spent a good deal of time seeking counsel from people on how to walk with her through it. And I was in the process of doing just that-- listening, sharing insight, just trying to be supportive. My other kids were napping, so it was only Aspen and me. I was aware that she was in the room, but she seemed content playing with her camera. I felt relief that I was able to just talk to my friend freely, without interruption.


Isn't interruption the bane of our existence? It brings out the selfish side of all of us. The other night, Rodney and I were engaged in tense conversation over dinner. Our 3-year-old kept trying to ask us a question, but we kept shutting him down. Eventually one of us snapped at him. We took the pause in conversation to just let him get out what we assumed would be a dumb fact about Spiderman or whatever else was swirling around in his little blond head. Instead, we heard, "Daddy, I need a fork." Oh boy.


That is a humorous (and humbling) example. But I really need to work on being less irritated by interruptions to my all-important conversations or whatever. Anyway, I'm off track.


Aspen had the camera on for nearly 6 minutes. And about 90% of that time, she had me in the lens. I was so focused on helping my friend that I completely ignored her. Not one time in the video did I look at Aspen. Not a smile, not one single acknowledgement of her existence.


It broke my heart to realize she was watching me put her in second place. Yes the call was important. Yes I needed to focus. But how many minutes were we out there together that I didn't even look at one of the most precious, impressionable people in my entire life?


At least 6.


It resonated like an analogy for life. "Important" things come and go. I only have my babies for a few fast-escaping years. As ashamed as I felt watching that video, in a way, I hope I never recoup. That I always recognize the need to connect. That I don't forget, as I so often do, that I'm being watched. And mimicked.