Swing, swing, swing, swing, I sang and relished every push with my first-born.
Her blonde hair blew in the wind, and she giggled.
Up in the air, wind blows your hair, I continued singing.
Pushing her was a delight. Just to see her red baby swing brought a smile to her eyes.
You love to swing, swing, swing, swing.
Yes I made it up. It’s our swing song. I know it’s not an award winner, but it stuck that day.
I sang it in the park largely pregnant with Daughter #2 interrupted by Daughter #1 (as a 2-year-old) saying, “Look Mama! I’m getting the sky dirty! My feet are getting the sky dirty!”
I sang it on the multi-colored swing on our porch in Asia swatting mosquitoes off of little legs and feeling the swings rods on my back.
I sang it as I swung myself matching rhythm with Daughter #3’s swing. Her feet were pumping, and her face sang for joy at her independence. We leaned back at the same time and swung in slow motion together. “Our hair is sweeping the grass, Mom!” she cried.
I sang it today as I pushed the Daughter #4 in the backyard swing. She’s the last child. She doesn’t want to learn to swing by herself. She likes being pushed. Ugh. I can say that because I’m the last child. I need a little push now and then.
But, she can belly swing alone. “You belly swing, Mama!” she cried as I had declared I was finished pushing her. Hmmm. “Maybe Mom’s shouldn’t belly swing,” I said warily. “Why not?” she said with wide blue eyes. I didn’t have an answer. “Well, okay,” wanting to set an adventurous example, “I’ll try it.” When you are an adult, belly swinging is tricky. You have to place the swing in the right spot, and I mean the right spot. I put that yellow plastic against my abdomen and leaned into it. Oh, boy, I thought, this is maybe not going to be fun. I pushed off and let out a groan the whole way back and forth that I am certain scared some of my nice neighbors.
Daughter #4 eyed me for a minute, and then she let out a chuckle. “You don’t belly swing right, Mom,” she firmly decided. So, I went back for more. I kept trying to figure out my balance with the whole thing. Plus I kept groaning. It is a belly swing reflex for me apparently. I called my husband out, and he belly swung too. He is tall and I’m pretty sure I heard him groan, but no one criticized him. Humph. I gave up the groan and started yelling, “Super Mom!” until Daughter #1 told me I was embarrassing her.
As Christians around the world, we begin the big swing this week from Lent to Easter. I’m going for the slow swing on this one. I invite you to slow down on your swing too. Slow down. Slow. Down. Don’t go too fast. Don’t miss the ride from sacrifice to celebration, from fasting to feasting. We have all week to take in the view.