Battles rage, empires are built, Kingdoms and their mighty Kings fall, and dinosaurs roam free; there is good versus evil, man versus man, and man versus nature; brothers discover hidden treasure, new worlds, and wild horses on wide open plains.  And it all takes place here in our home; within "the girdle of these walls". 

I think of the Prologue to Shakespeare's Henry V, where the chorus speaks to the power of our imagination:

My sweetest times at home are when the boys are building imaginative worlds, either on their own or together.  I love the sound of their voices as they transform into different characters, and the way their bodies contort into hideous beasts or prowling lions.  This sort of pretend play can go on for hours, especially when the story-line revolves around their adventures in Narnia or on Han Solo's Millennium Falcon (A.K.A., the "American Falcon".)  How sweet it is when I round the corner with a load of laundry in my arms only to find the hallway covered in toy animals and my boys on their tummies on the landing looking down upon the "dusty African plains."  (No, that was not a pun... my floors are not that dusty, it's simply the words used in the opening of the book, "The Lion King.")  

Especially sweet are the times instrumental music plays in the background; like a well orchestrated soundtrack layered into the stories they create.   John Williams, Joshua Bell, George Winston, Irish Dreams...  seem to reinforce the majesty of their make-believe.  When they are playing separately and unaware, I often find them humming along with the music.  In these moments I glimpse depth, peace, beauty, and even the foreshadowing of a certain level of refinement to come.  They will not be rug-rats forever, I am very aware in these moments.

My Mother often had the very same CDs playing when I was growing up that I play for my children.  When i put them on now it's like going home for me, in a strange way.  My heart feels at home.  My breathing slows and I feel safe.  It pleases me to know that my children are being hard-wired with the same melodies.  I was thinking of making a few CDs with the songs we listen to the most, placing one in each of the boys' memory boxes.  Upon the case I would write these words, "The Soundtrack of your early years."   

My favorite author, who has encouraged me greatly as a mom, is Sally Clarkson.  In her wonderful book, The Mission of Motherhood, she shares many of the things she has done both in her home, as well as out in nature, to help her children discover the gifts of God's creation and inspiration.  They hike, stopping to smell the roses or take in the view, they prepare and eat feasts regularly, read good books aloud, and enjoy music often.   Now that Sally's children are nearly all out of the nest, they still get together to do these things as often as they can.  Not only did the beauty and the music come to be the soundtrack of their lives, it has proven a beautiful sort of glue, binding them all together.  

 

This afternoon as my most creative child played, with Tchaikovski's Violin Concerto wafting up the stairs and into his playroom, he took a moment from his stagecoach heist to lay down and drink deeply from the peace in our home.  

Truth be told, I don't know if John Williams would be proud of me or not, but I'm convinced Sally Clarkson would be!