This past weekend, Jason, Noam and I visited Delicious Orchards to go apple picking. Jason had just returned (via red eye) from a week-long work trip on the west coast and mustered up the energy to make a day of it. I'm not sure I would've been quite as amiable had I needed to do that, but he really took one for the Toff team.
When I think about taking Noam to a pumpkin patch or apple picking or on any other adventure (yes, adventure. even the grocery store is an adventure with a newborn), I feel a giddiness in the pit of my stomach. It's a hopeful giddiness that becomes difficult to explain in words but very easy to explain in expression. It's in the smile I can't wipe off my face when Noam stares up at the apple trees. It's in the exhaustion that comes from running around, and it's in the contentment to know sleep is not nearly as important as these moments together. It's in the tears in my eyes as I think about the lifetime I hope we have to enjoy these adventures.
I always think of a favorite play of mine when I think about these adventures we have had and will have, and how, without tradition, our lives would be as shaky as a fiddler on the roof. I'm thankful that I grew up with traditions and am so happy to have married into a family who values tradition as much as I do. I hope only that Noam's life is full of traditions he values, moments he treasures and people who love him more than he'll ever know. And I hope - I hope so very much - that his life is never shaky.