At once

I watched a short video about space on AshMae's blog while holding Ada on my lap. I was caught up in the at once grandeur and simplicity of it all. The movie made space out as sophisticated and scientific one moment, but then ordinary—just a couple of big balls that spin around each other—the next. I thought about God; about his at once complexity and plainness. And about my life; how it seems at once a frenzy and a calm.

Then I looked at Ada. My perfect little Ada. My Ada who just the day before had spent many hours in frustration because she couldn't get in and out of her highchair by herself; who flailed and screamed when I tried to help her turn two pages of a book that were stuck together; who hit and cried when she couldn't make me understand exactly what she wanted.

Now she was so calm. She was content sitting with me and turning her green spoon over and over in her fingers. She caught me craning my neck to look at her face. She turned.

We took turns finding each others' tongues and clapping our hands loudly, then softly.

I thought about her again later as I laid down together before her nap. I thought about how she is like space. Perplexing, involved, vast, systemic and extraordinary—but small, clear, simple, sincere and pure.

Maybe one of the reasons we have kids is so we can remember how at once miraculous and mundane our lives are.