Where Angels Fear To Rant

And sometimes, only very rarely, a secretive feeling creeps in, that this is the moment I was made for, that time collapses exclusively for me, to lift me up and show me infinity, and I understand the words of the poet: 'To see the world in a grain of sand...'

The place where I felt that was at the bedside of my kids. Watching sleep crawl under my son's eyelids, I barely sense the tingling in my bent legs. I sit on the floor next to his little bed, hold his hand (a ritual we introduced to prevent him from sucking his thumb, at least in bed), I look at the darkness, and talk to God. And I suspect He laughs at my plans.

Rada is asleep thirty seconds after I turn off the light, so I don't often watch her. Mihail, however needs reassurance to fall asleep. He sleeps with the mammoth in his bed, but he still wants me there. And he says, time and again: 'Mama, I love you SO much'. (He's been saying that several times a day for the past month, so I know he knows.) 'I love you too, son', I say, and I can't take my eyes off his face. He has an incredible face, whose expression can switch from childish to grownup in milliseconds. Sometimes he says: 'Mama, I let you go work now.' I say 'Thanks' and leave, either to work, or to play Guild Wars. (I haven't played GW for almost a month. Too many coincidences.)

I have nothing to do with my son's existence. I have everything to do with my son's existence. Children are a question mark to the statement of our own lives. They demand a definition of what it is to be human. There is no easy answer.

Today the Church celebrates the day of St Michael the Archangel, who is supposed to be the patron saint of both my kids. (Don't ask why Rada is included in the name list of celebrating folks, I have no clue, except that she has a special brother;) So I bought them a pair of swords. Mihail has been asking for a sword for ages, and was absolutely thrilled, he even said a little prayer of thankfulness in bed. Rada made a wonderful allusion to 'Finding Nemo':

'I love fighting with a sword. It runs in my family.' (In Bulgarian: "Обичам да се бия с меч. Семейна обремененост." Наистина така е преведено във филма.)

How could I miss an EICTE moment?

"In art St. Michael is represented as an angelic warrior, fully armed with helmet, sword, and shield (often the shield bears the Latin inscription: Quis ut Deus)"
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On a completely unrelated note, today is the day I learned something which made me remember the words of a wise man: Fate is a canine. Once again, more slowly. Fate. Is. A. Canine.