I promised my mind

I just had the great fortune of spending time with Aimee, daughter #1, and my wee grandson, Linden, who is three.
The moments we spend with family are far too rare these days but when it happens, I ask the cells of my heart to take it all in; to store the magical moments until “next time.”
We laughed, we remembered, and we shared a few tears.
Aimee has an extraordinary heart. Watching her mother her son with patience, kindness, and unlimited love moves me to tears in those moments when I am witness. She is fair and consistent, as we all strive for though most of us fall short.
But even at three, Linden has wings to be Linden—a gift from his mother—and she is at the ready to help him, to guide him, and, most importantly, to keep him safe when someone or something might harm him.
Though he is only three, Linden’s language allows for conversation and real discussion about the challenges of being three. When asked if he could fetch a run-away shovel from the water beside a dock, his no-nonsense response was “that’s not possible” with a look on his face of how could you think it was, do you see how short my arms are?
Linden loves his mommy. He is sure to check on her when she is out of sight. When she steals a moment for a shower, he soon is knocking on the bathroom door and asking, “Are you okay, mommy? Do you want me to come in?” before he enters regardless of her answer—and he always is welcome.
I have no doubt Linden will grow into a man with a firm dose of empathy, of kindness, of integrity. All those qualities are there now being nurtured and fed.
He notices when others need help and he has no tolerance for unkindness. He tests the waters of “I want” in appropriate intervals to keep his mother on her toes, sometimes throwing in a good collapsing to the floor and a wail of just the right intensity.
But then reason prevails and he dusts himself off and gets on with the day. Some days we all feel like flopping onto the floor and should follow Linden’s lead.
After seven glorious days with Linden and Aimee, I find my heart heavy as I head for home. Though home is a lovely place to be heading, I wish I could tuck the two of them into my suitcase and release them only when they promise never to wander from my “every day.”
But we do wander and adventures call to us, and we end up spread far too widely apart when the dust settles.
Linden’s last little nugget of advice, that I shall incorporate into my mantra, was “I promised my mind.” While he was trying to get a job done, and was asked to leave it unfinished, he merely shook his head and replied in a firm but quiet voice, “Sorry, Mom. I promised my mind.”
I shall take that one step further. I shall promise my heart to never forget these moments. I should probably let my mind in on the plan, too.
What promises have you made to your head? I hope you can see them through.