Today we went blueberry picking, my little girls and I. We dragged Daddy and Grammy along with us too, of course, just for entertainment. For 2 (long) hours, we backbreakingly picked the bushes clean of all that we could find...a whole 25 pounds to be exact. And boy, are they delicious...a wee bit tart, but nothing that some sugar couldn't fix.
As I took the picture for this blog, I saw their little hands...and I saw my past...and my future. In their hands that worked so fervently today, I saw the life that I never had at their age. I saw how genetics picks and chooses traits at whim, making carbon copies that are only visible when you look for them. I saw my Mother's hands in the form of little replicas, and it made me wonder how different her life really was from ours, surviving war by being shipped from Poland to Siberia at the tender age of four. In their little hands I saw everything that I have ever wanted and needed in my life. In their hands I saw love.
Now, I have to say that at about 1 1/2 hours into picking they had had enough. Truthfully, I think I was right there with them, but the berries were just to nice to stop picking! "Momma, this is hard work, but the berries will taste so much better since we worked so hard to get them" my eight year old said , in the midst of her "that's enough for me" moment. At that point I said to myself, I'm doing this right, mistakes and all. My five year old, not to be outdone by her older sister, came trotting over and said "Mom, this is the best day ever!".
Now, how do you top that?