Here Comes The Sun

For our anniversary I bought Rob and I matching acoustic guitars. I know, it sounds a little corny but he had made a comment about wanting to learn while he was deployed and being clueless as to what to get to celebrate the day I ran with it. We had been talking about doing more things as husband and wife and I though "That'll be fun to learn together". At one point in my tumultuous teenage life I had a maroon electric guitar that was once my moms. That's about the coolest thing I have ever found out about her. I played around with it but never really got anywhere.


Now, my fingers are sore from about a ten minute practice hanging out on the porch pushing Max in the baby swing, savoring the new autumn air. I'm sure, just like hauling toddlers, my body will be conditioned in time. Not even remotely close to knowing how to read music, I'm happy with my progress of the first four notes of "Here Comes the Sun" by The Beatles. I remember holding my first child and vigorously swaying and bouncing him while singing that song a capella to settle both his and my anxiety. Tears streaming both our faces as I belted out the words:

Little darling the smiles returning to their faces,
Little darling it seems like it's years since it's been here... 

The sound of my wildly untrained voice breaking through whatever misery his tiny body was experiencing as we lay together in a patch of sunlight streaming soft warmth through the living room window. As I sang, his wails turned to hiccuped sobs as he slowly calmed against my breast. These are the memories I hold.

I continued the trend with the rest of my babes cooing sweetly simple words when times were emotionally hard. Learning those first few notes today, while somewhat troublesome to my non-music reading self, is inspiring. The squishy flesh at the tips of my fingers feels abused right now but the pay off will be worth it. Just like motherhood, when you're arms are at their breaking point from jiggling a baby tormented with the first of many tooth pains or the crippling sciatica brings you to your knees as you swaddle life in your womb;  it's a good kind of pain.

Looking at the guitars I picture Rob and I hanging out on our front porch away on our little slice of land, as the kids dance wildly in the lawn, as we josh each other and screw around on our well used guitars. Maybe grabbing some coffee one sleepy Saturday morning and waking the world with these words burned into my heart:

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
And I say it's all right.