Leaving Tracks

The grass needed to be cut today for the first time in a month. Most of it is dormant because of the drought. But there were some wild and woolly green clumps scattered throughout the shady areas of the yard that couldn’t be ignored any longer.

There were a myriad of other things on the to-do list for today. But instead I rode a tractor over two acres of grass, most of it brown.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Around a tree. Back and forth.

It felt like all I was doing was leaving tire tracks on the yard.

From the road in front of my house you can see row after row of neatly mowed brown grass. Much of it isn’t any shorter than when I began.

Why bother? Because the neighbors might be impressed? Or because I live in rural suburbia and I’m a stay-at-home-mom with two school age kids, therefore …cringe… I must have nothing better to do than to ride the mower back and forth, leaving tracks?

Why bother?

While riding the mower, I saw a butterfly. It danced in the breeze, keeping pace with me for an entire row.

A delicate little yellow butterfly, with a wingspan no bigger than two inches wide.

Its movements looked like a giggle.

It was so fragile and so beautiful that I cried.

I couldn’t see that butterfly from sitting at my computer, or from driving in my car on the way to the grocery store.

My neighbors couldn’t see that butterfly while passing my neatly mowed rows of brown grass.

I could only see that butterfly while it fluttered along side me as I continued the discipline of riding the mower back and forth, back and forth.

Just doing. Just breathing. Just being.

But there's so much to do.

This year Katie will compete in the Girls Under 9 Championships, her solo dance competition for the Southern Region Oireachtas. She’ll also compete with a 4-Hand Team, 8-Hand Team, and Figures Choreography Team.

I’m already tired of the drives to the studio for the extra dance practices, which lead to the late nights, which lead to the rushed mornings the next day. In the car to go here, and back in the car to go there.

Back and forth, back and forth.

So busy. So tired. Not enough dark chocolate.

For us, it’s Irish dance, but it could be anything.

Just doing.

And then...

My kids giggle.

And they flutter along side me as I continue the discipline of driving back and forth, back and forth.

Just breathing. Just being.

And suddenly I realize…

I’m not just leaving tracks.

I’m loving the butterflies.

Just loving.