Privacy does not seem to hold much weight for Benjamin. Hence he has no problem with me being a cheerleader while he gets dressed for school. Promptness is not one of his defining features while it is for his bus driver. So I sit on the window seat and nudge.

"Great shirt! Let's pick out pants. Hurry, buddy."

This morning I slowed down enough to marvel at how healthy he is. Congenital hypothyroidism and autism notwithstanding, he is in fabulous shape. I began to reflect on some of the organs and systems pumping beneath his skin that do not seem to rely on my nudging. I did take human anatomy in high school, and probably got a decent grade, but I would be hard pressed to point to his adrenal gland. Or his pancreas. Or are there two, like the kidneys?

It is easy to fall for the illusion that the people who live under my roof need my constant monitoring. Certainly the toddlers do wander off, and forget to eat their toast. But maybe there are areas I could lessen my grip on. Like how John spends his free time, or whether Zack has cleaned his room. The lines between shared living and strict management can be blurry. 

I reluctantly noticed that there are many areas of life that proceed without my interventions. Benjamin's body is one, the gradual shift from one season to the next is another. Maybe the inner workings of my marriage are guided by an inner wisdom I am not always privy to.