What Time Is It?

**How do you follow a wonderfully crafted speech? You do it by being yourself. By being sincere.You won't find the same feeling twice. If you are lucky, you may find an extension -- a time altered, mutated emotion displaying itself distinctly but with familiarity.**

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I am fascinated with Time. It marches on - succinctly. It cannot be bottled. It does not carry emotion. It simply displays an accurate picture of the moment and then it moves on. It does not know the next step - but it takes the step and the next and the next. It has no memories. It carries us within it. It organizes us. Gathers us. Disperses us. Moves us. Stalls us. It is entirely divorced from us yet we cling to it with utter desperation. To pause. To fast forward. To reverse. All of it is out of our control. There is no remote. We are passengers. Bystanders. Battered.

There is no short cut. There is no compromise. There are no actual do overs.  Time is precise. Time is ruthless. Time continues to count out our days, our hours, our minutes. Time does not know our end but clicks by second by second, holding us within its grasp.

Time is NOT human. It does not understand our wants. Our indecision. Our mistakes. Time cannot compute our risks nor can it grasp our strategic methods. Time is a robot. A pre-programed device -- set up to operate strictly off of mathematical equations. It is law.

Time holds me to this law. Scientifically I move forward. Unrestricted. Free. Unattached. It marches me forward. I strive for this. I want to be free of my emotion, my regrets, my pre-planning.

Unfortunately Time has no memory. It is the snapshot without the back story. It can display color, shapes, letters and numbers but cannot gather them together into a strategic pattern. Time has no future. Time has no story. Time has no heart. We will continually be at odds; arguing over clicking through Time and simply being in Time. Conflicted.

Honest Labels

Honesty is the best policy when dealing with kids, I always say. Tell the truth (on their level) and try to answer any question they may have with an open attitude.

There has been alot of honesty for my seven year old. It all started when our beloved beluga whale at our city zoo got sick and died. My son was almost 4 years old. But even before that, we made him switch rooms in our house explaining that when his little sister came she would need the nursery.

Then two days after his sister was born his wonderful companion, Jaker Baker (his Grandparent's dog) passed away.

There were preschool and daycare transitions to explain and God questions that surfaced. Every day my son received less and less attention from his Mother as she tried to accomodate for a second child.

After Kindergarten I should have insisted in keeping him at Hoyt for one more year before asking that he be transferred into the "big" Washington-Hoyt building.

It seems that at each point along that way there has always been something that my son has had to leave behind. We tried to explain as best as possible. Transitions are natural. Explaining death was not easy. I am still explaining it to him.

Looking back on all these "deaths" I realize that my son has been extremely adaptable and has been able to handle my honesty with an open heart. Except when he simply cannot. Like the 5 minutes before we leave for school - socks itch, shoes don't velcro right, the jacket is a jumble and my son falls apart. Or like the 5 minutes leading up to "lights out" - blankets are too hot, stuffed animals are not arranged right, more hugs, more kisses, a potty emergency, bizzare aches and pains and my son falls apart. Or like the moment leading up to dinner when legos cant be built fast enough, video games cant be won fast enough, hunger cannot be found and my son falls apart. I could go on -- forever. All of these situations add up. I begin to subconsciously label my son as anxious, stressed out, sensitive and simply not able to handle life's speed bumps.

...And then we move and my son changes schools, neighborhoods, homes and friends. The transition goes better than expected. I am honest with him on all accounts. If anyone were to ask him why we moved, he could answer in his sleep. He interacts with new friends well, likes his teacher, loves his new room, and adapts well to the new community. There are still so many moments in between when he falls apart.

Currently we are in the process of looking for a new home in the same community. His elementary school boundary lines were re-drawn and we fall one block outside the new lines. We talked about this with him. Life. What could we do.

Tonight when I was putting my son to bed I hugged him and said, whatever happens there is no need to worry. Your mommy and daddy are doing everything we can do to keep you at your school. We are not worried and we know that everything is going to be how it is going to be.

My son looked at me and said, "I'm always stressed out, Mom. I can't help it." As he said this I could feel the tension in the room rise. "Why?" I wondered aloud. "Do you think it is just part of your personality?" I asked. "No," my son said. "It is just what I do because that is what you and Dad say I act like."

Wow. I took the next 10 minutes and relived with him all of the big transitions in his life and confirmed that he had handled each one with such grace and strength. "Who cares about the little stuff - sometimes we all need to vent", I said.

When I left his room that night I was so convicted - labels stick with us. They sometimes mold us into something we are not. I have felt the sting of a misguided label. I am now guilty of doing this same thing to my own son. I opened his door again and said, "Thanks for your honesty. I am glad we could talk about this."

Grace - dont wait or it may be too late

So many of us get stuck, thinking we deserve something so much more. More out of our relationships. More out of our history. More out of our future. More out of our children, our parents. More out of our jobs, our bank accounts and our grocery bill. When we get caught demanding more for ourselves we cannot possibly give the grace that others need so much. My Grandma's life, her being, deserves this grace right now. 

Grace is the ultimate best gift we can give anyone. No one truly deserves a do-over or for that matter forgiveness. When someone wrongs us they deserve our punishment, right? The reason.....there is never just one wrong. Usually there is a series of wrongs that hurt us, make us angry, sad, make us feel insufficient or deficient. These wrongs usually do not stop even when we grant a do-over. They do not deserve our grace.

In the middle of thinking and writing about this my so big three year old had a break in her good mood. She got grumpy started demanding things of me. I told her politely that her behavior was unacceptable and that she would need a nap if it kept up. She kept it up. I was a little annoyed for being interrupted. I looked at her and said, "you know what you deserve?" She stopped crying immediately thinking that some sort of punishment was about to be handed out. "You deserve a nap but I am going to give you a great big hug instead," I said. We sat and snuggled together. I got her laughing and she went about her business. 

Some parents however do not easily hand out forgiveness and their children are left harboring guilt, resentment and a sense that they deserve more from their parent. This attitude seeps into all aspects of these grown up children's lives. In order to heal, they need to show forgiveness, or grace. But, in order for them to forgive they in turn need forgiveness.This puts us all in a bit of a quandary. Who should forgive first?

Whether it is a parent/child relationship, a friendship or a romantic endeavour, grace MUST be included. None of us end the way we started. Our intentions get messed with. We forget to do our best. We simply don't want to be nice. We have also been wronged and we in turn take it out on others. We grow old. We change. Our memories add up and we are not as light or innocent as when we started out. It shouldnt be about who forgives first. Grace should be built into our everyday actions so that this isnt even/ever a question.

My Grandma has lived a long life. She is still living a long life. As with all of us, I'm sure she has regrets and lost ambitions. This should be recognized and celebrated as being human. We are all human. We all mess up. We all need do-overs. Today is the best  day to give someone a do-over. Likewise there is no better time to decide to give yourself a do-over. Continue giving grace, dont wait for someone to ask for it or to give it to you.

uncovering the coverings

I found my Grandma's digitally preserved wedding album last night. ( Thank you Aunt Betsy).
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There comes a time when you just cannot possibly make room for another book in a house. Libraries were created for a reason. Slinging heavy boxes labeled "HOS/CDS books" around in the garage, trying to decide what to give to charity, I decided to tear back the packing tape to see what my children might be missing if and when it was donated. My eye immediately caught my grandma's smiling 20 something face. So bright. So happy. So young. So vibrant. So excited. Why had I put this with my children's books?

I ended up going through all the books. Now most of them have made a way into my house...but that is another story...

Grace and happiness hide themselves from us. Why is it so hard to hang on to these two things as we get older? My grandma has lived her life, is still living her life. Married young to an intelligent, handsome boy. Raised three children, no...make that four children (the last one was 14 years younger than the first). Had money. Husband worked for the pentagon. Husband got sick. Not sure I know the whole story. When I was little I was told that his foot got infected while traveling abroad and there was a series of blood clots that went to his heart. He had a few heart attacks. The last of such left him debilitated. My Dad was in Medical School at the time, engaged to marry my mom. My Dad's youngest brother would have only been 10 years old at the time?? His two sisters were in the middle. High school maybe? Their Dad lived. Lost all ability to talk and take care of himself. Had a hard time walking, etc. Lost alot. They all lost alot. I remember when I was young my Grandpa would repeat the same phrase over and over again during our conversations. He liked to eat frozen orange juice. He liked to sit on his row boat behind their house in Minnesota. My brother was 9, maybe 10 years old when he finally passed away. But wait, how did she do it? How did my Grandma survive? I am sure it wasn't easy. I am sure she must have been very angry with her situation. But, she created her own company. Sold it many years later for millions of dollars. Bought the company back (it was her baby) for so much less and tried to go for it again. Couldn't quite make it work. Her youngest is still trying to make it work.  The in between, the details, are not very flattering.

....

But what of grace and happiness? There was a lightness (lack of heaviness) of being in my Grandma's wedding pictures. Her smile seemed to come so easily. The laughter rolls off the tongue. The hurt feelings diminish with a hug and a joke.  This is why it found its way into the children books. Children know this language. Children understand this way of being.
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....

That very same night I also found my wedding album. We hadn't yet been stashed with the children books but I wondered how long it will take. The decisions, the happenstance, the meetings, the moments, the trying to do and be the best, the forgetting to be the best, the agony, the triumphs, the life. It all adds up and in the end we wind up being very different beings. Heavy.  Weighted down. I think even our smiles change.There are so many different times, different phases, different memories, different places - all of them changing us just a bit. Molding us.

...

I think this is one of the reasons I cherish my children. They are still light. The happiness and grace oozing out of them is amazing! Their smiles are a delight.

...

I have gazed upon my Grandma's wedding album now a few times since last night. In the pictures she is at least 15 years my junior. I look on her as if she is my child. Experiencing the happiness that life has to offer. I wish her this same happiness and lightness of being throughout her entire life. I plead with her. Hold on to this. Don't forget this. You are radiant. Your life will unfold, there will be hard times (too hard to imagine). It is up to you to decide to live it with grace and happiness.  It's up to you to fight against the anger, the sorrow, and the loneliness. I longingly want to hold her. Smile at her a true smile. Lock eyes with her. Try to help her not forget....And then I laugh and think to myself that I should just take my own advice and it would all be okay. To be light. To radiate happiness. To give grace. There is not a way to undo, to go back, to live a different life. The only way through is forward. So I challenge me, challenge all of us, to go forward with a lightness of being, radiating happiness and giving grace to all those who ask.




**Dedicated to the only woman I know that constantly kept grace and happiness in her back pocket and still to this day has a lightness of being to be rivaled. I love you Aunt Tammi. ***

The Climb and The Fall.

There has to be laughter and alot of do overs for it to be worth my while. I'm standing at the edge of a cliff pondering my decent. No worries, the skydiving parachute is securely attached. The climb to the top of the cliff was treacherous, heart pounding, slow, awkward, methodical, and astounding, with some laughter and blisters thrown in. I am at the top. My family is also here. We are all gazing down into the valley. The very same valley we just came from. The wind whips up the dust and my hair flies into my face. The look on my children's faces is that of sheer recklessness mixed with a bit of deep down delight and bravery. I wonder if my face reflects back this same puzzled look. We stand a top this cliff for what seems like hours, pondering our landing, our wires, our parachutes, our views. We wonder if this might be a one time deal. Will we ever stand here again? And then we jump. We all jump together. We hold hands. We smile puzzled smiles. We hold on to what we know is true and right. Some of us close our eyes.

And then we land. In a new house. In a new school. In a new community. In a new neighborhood. In new rooms. In new patterns. We all hit the ground at the same time. Some of us land on our feet. Some of us land on our rumps. We are all still holding hands so we can help steady the person to the right of us. We smile at each other and off we go. I cannot write what I don't know, so I stop here. The letting go and moving on will have to take up another one of my spaces.

For right now, I am wondering about the climbing and falling. We sold our first home in a spectacular four days and moved out on May 25, 2012. My already too grown up seven year old was not even out of 1st grade. We knew we had to move closer to Seattle, but where? No house picked out yet. No community nailed down yet. We were homeless. We moved in with my folks, two blocks down. Essentially put every item we owned (even toys!) into storage. I instructed my children to pick out three toys for the summer. Buster, our beloved cat moved away from us (temporarily). We had begun our accent. We knew eventually we would step off into uncharted territory. We were content to be still within our community and our same surroundings. As time went on (as we climbed further and further up) we forgot a little bit what it felt like to be in the comforting valley.  Toys and treasures were forgotten. Old, bad habits were done away with. New books were discovered. Of course there were tree roots that tripped us up. We had alot of do overs. But there was laughter too. Laughter for our odd place. Laughter for our toy choices. Laughter for new found mysterious spots. Laughter as we rounded the bend and could see the top.

So we found a soon-to-be-built house in the Issaquah Highlands. 17 miles from Seattle! Great schools! Mountains. Views of the Bellevue and Seattle cityscape. Glorious views of the Olympics. This gave us a jolt of energy. The house had a move in date scheduled for the end of summer. Our excitement blossomed into kinetic ticks of activity. There were still tree roots. But we started to recognize these stumbling blocks and would look to each other for support. We held hands more. Each of us began to realize that there would be a time in which nothing was familiar except for our four faces and personalities. This comforted us. This angered us. We made a paper chain to symbolize D-day. Departure day. We acquired new treasures that could be taken along for the ride. And then we took pause. There is seemed to be so much fanfare in the last 20 strides that was beyond our control that we had to take stock. We had to huddle up. We had to dig deep. This was nothing compared to the last step that would have to be taken.

There is a certain amount of planning that goes into the falling. There is also a certain amount of trust.  We all knew that there would be a moment - a moment in which we would all have to jump and trust in each other's heart. We are seven days away from our jump. We have already linked hands. We unknowingly childishly gesture at each other, wondering if any of us will back out. But we also have confidence in each others intent. There is no fear of heights. We long to gaze down into the valley. We long to take the first step off the cliff. We long for a different view. A different perspective. A different angle. A pause before the landing. We are connected. We are our own home. We may traverse this road again. We may jump again. But we do it together. We laugh together. We forgive each other. We live together withinin the climbing and falling.

Adventure

Ok, so this may take some popcorn...and some napkins...and maybe a drink...Are you all settled down to watch an action packed thriller?

Not me, I just had to remember my blogging username and password so I decided popcorn was an order. Long time no see (or hear, if you prefer). What's been happening? Any new adventures? Did you save the world while I was gone? Any new beings discovered? Any new arch rivals I should be concerned about?

No adventures, you say? Couldn't be. Adventure awaits around every corner! Adventure is every tree stump just waiting to be jumped from. It is the backyard jungle, waiting to be explored. It is the uncharted creek calling you to keep walking. It is the story book. It is the pool filled with giant human fish. It is the dark room shined bright only by a flashlight. It is the butterfly that just can't seem to be caught. It is the sand, molded into a castle wall which holds the entire ocean at bay. It is the quiet time that seems to bend our imagination. These are true adventures.The world is unlimited in its possibilities. These are my kids. This are your kids. These adventures are our children.

At what age does the our world cease to be amazing? Do you remember when you turned the corner and there was no adventure waiting for you? Or did your adventures fade out gradually? Why is it so hard to hold onto these awesome feelings? Are we too old? Too educated? Too busy? Too comfortable? Too tired? Too unimaginative to have an adventure?

My already too grown up seven year old loves adventure. His books are saturated with it. His mind is bent around it. There is a mystery waiting to be solved at every transition. My almost four year old tugs at adventure. She dares herself to jump from a higher stair than last time. She holds her breath for a few seconds longer each time she dunks her head in the pool. It is enticing. It must feel glorious and a bit scary all at the same time.

These feelings get buried in some of us. Each moment that passes there is less and less adventure. We grow up. This is somehow okay with all of us. We can watch a movie.

I wonder what it would look like though if we treated each new morning as an adventure. Each new moment as a possible ninja battle attack or a high jumping contest. Our glorious earth and all it surroundings should be our palette and our paintings should turn out to be works of art, mesmerizing, action packed, totally awesome, fun adventures. Our kids would love us for it!

So, go have an adventure...right now...today.

Bubbles and Balloons

 Water gun fights. TV tag. Lunch on the porch. Reminiscing. I want more than ever to hold my child close to me. To feel his heart beating. He is slowly creeping away from me. Far away. So I'll take any chance I can to be close. No matter the cost.

It starts early. Earlier than I expect it to. First it is the underhanded grumbling, usually about our weather. Will it ever warm up? Then a few weeks before school dumps our children into our laps the real complaining begins. What are you doing with your kids this summer? Camps? Daycare? Grandma's? Most mothers look to other mothers to lead the way. An open ended question that seems full of expectations, more routine and little down time. The topic of year round school usually enters...now. What are we going to do with the children?

Last summer, as a new stay at home mom, I saddled up to these conversations with a fury. How and when could I discharge my child into someone else's care so that I did not have to deal with the chaotic happenstance of summer? These summer conversations seemed natural. Of course, they have to do something. They cannot just sit at home.

This summer however, it did not come naturally. I watched from the outside as mothers began the first bits of noodling. I flinched at any talk of camps. I watched summer calendars get used up in a matter of minutes. I fought hard against any summer planning. As summer break drew closer and closer I felt myself getting excited and giddy. I wanted the school year to be done. I wanted so badly to go through a whole day without having to mention homework, without having to be uniform dressed and out the door by 8:45am, without having to hurry up bedtime, without having to wake a slumbering child and scold them when their breakfast couldn't be eaten fast enough, without having to pack a lunch, without having to talk with teachers about misbehavior. I wanted my child back. I eagerly looked forward to having him all to myself. No outside influences. No routine. No rules. No uniforms. No recess drama. No teachers. No six hours of sitting in a desk. No more boring hours spent zoning out in front of a white board. No more school.

I had changed. I don't want to let go of my child. I want to hang out with him. Snuggle with him. Play Wii with him. Go to the beach and hit DQ on the way home. Last summer these thoughts somehow paralyzed me. I couldn't deal. This summer I hesitate to give him up for a day.

There are such few moments left between him and me. I recognize this.

So we started our summer break with no plans and no routines. After two weeks of no routine, my child has finally emerged. He had been under water for so long. Weighed down by life's expectations. He had gotten out of whack. He had traveled too far to course correct - didn't know he needed to. The discipline mounted. The misbehavior rose to the occasion. The exhaustion had set in. Sickness and school work were relenting.  And then school let out for the summer.  My child is back in all his fullest. Laughter abounds. He hasn't picked up a pencil in eleven days! We explore, we swim, we eat whenever we are hungry, we are lazy, we read, we run, we bike, we sleep when we are tired, we hug and we snuggle. There is no time.

For me, this is the ultimate gift of summer. Reuniting with a struggling child. Bonding with a sensitive child. Laughing. Water gun fights. TV tag. Lunch on the porch. Reminiscing. I want more than ever to hold my child close to me. To feel his heart beating. He is slowly creeping away from me. Far away. So I'll take any chance I can to be close. No matter the cost.

Too Cool

A too cool moment

I happened upon my own blog today and decided that this was a good day to drop all my thoughts onto paper. I was ready to pen something fantastic. My thoughts were jumbled but usually once I start writing I hit on one topic and can run. These mixed and shaken thoughts all fell to the floor when I saw my last unfinished blog entry. The title was interesting and it made me curious to see what was written. "Too Cool," was my title. I stared at a blank page. I had written nothing. Nothing? Not even remembering when I began this entry, I gave a slight chuckle. What had been so cool? It could have been a myriad of different items, people, thoughts, quotes, nature (my list could go on). But what was "too cool," I wondered? And why did I not carry it through? Write it down? Was I interrupted? Was it a sarcastic title? I looked at the ordinary date. There were no clues. I had no idea what was "too cool."

There are so many not cool times in our lives. Struggles, races, sickness, headaches, disorganization (this list could also go on and on). I write about these times. I feel my not so cool moments deeply. These moments seem to carve me into the person I am today. But I am also, more importantly molded by my so cool moments. I would like to remember these "too cool" moments more. Write more about the happiness I am feeling. Sometimes I think that snapping a couple pictures will do the trick. But obviously, for me, I need to write more about the awesomeness that happens every day. The smiles, the eagerness, the laughter, the contentment, the messy morning hair of my two children, my husband's work and ultimately, my happiness.

So, other thoughts will come on a new day but for now I will be happy to go retrieve a waking child from her nap and have a nice cup of coffee and then maybe a tea party. Too cool.

30 years later

I stood outside my house today watching my not so little bundle of joy flitting back and forth between trike rides and water play. I felt the sweat dripping off my forehead which comes from mowing an entire front and back (too big) yard. I stood motionless listening to the wind whipping through the trees. Lately every emotion brings me to an utter stop. I wonder if I will ever feel this exact way again. I am on the move. In a moment I may disappear. This may disappear.

A black Mercedes drove up and slowed way down. I am used to this. My FOR SALE sign begs that people slow down. But this time it was different. the car slowed down and stopped in front of my neighbor's house. I extracted myself from my emotions and made sure I could lay eyes upon my little girl. Then the engine cut out.

A blonde haired woman stepped out. "I hope you don't mind," she stated. "I grew up in this house. I just want to snap a few pictures."

I wished later that I had asked her name because our interaction was instantaneously friendly.

"Wow," I stated, "how long has it been?"

"I grew up here, moved out when I went to college, oh about 30 years ago."

30 years ago, I thought? That was just about the time that my parents moved me into this town. I immediately was drawn to this ironic stranger. We spoke about remodels, driveways, neighborhood kids, rotten porches, bathrooms,  grass, history. I didn't want to let her go. She was a part of me. She had grown up in my bestest neighbor's house and knew so much about my house and it's surroundings. I was mesmerized.

"Well, thanks so much," she called out when she finally made it back to her car. "Good luck with your move."

This is what I needed. I needed to meet her. I needed to watch her drive slowly down the street and then stop and get out to take a picture of her childhood home. A sense of relief washed over me. I connected to my house's history. She connected to her neighborhood's future. It was a pure moment. In that moment, I released my home. I released my hold.

I imagine that one day (in my 60s) I will drive down North 34th, slow down, get out, apologize and take a couple snapshots. I am hopeful that there will be someone outside willing to chat about histories and futures.

My Sincerest, To My Bestest Neighbor Ever.

Thank you for the willingness. Thank you for the conversation. Thank you for the afternoon sidewalk bicycle chats. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for the smiles. Thank you for the honesty and the understanding. Thank you for holding my children. Thank  you for ignoring my children. Thank you for your intelligence and your supportive teaching. Thank you for the parties. Thank you for the late night beer. Thank you for your cheerfulness and your realism. Thank you for your phone number and the key to your house. Thank you for moving your car for basketball championships. Thank you for the early morning commitment (even when I wasn't able to follow through). Thank you for the home baked warm cookies. Thank you for the spontaneous play dates. Thank you for the sidewalk chalk. Thank you for the warm and caring, genuine person that your are. I will miss our greetings - our comings and goings. I will miss sharing our driveway. I will miss sharing our kids. I will miss your curly spunky hair. I will miss laughing with you. I will miss our summers. I will miss your routines. Most of all though, I will miss you. You are a dear friend. Thank you.

I hold the keys.

As the key turned in the lock the door opened to reveal a cold and vacant house. Every visible nail hole, the picture shadows, all of the awful forest green molding, the fancy floral curtains, each stain in the carpet, the bright blue paint, the knob and tube wiring, the lack of ventilation in the bathroom, the quaint original kitchen, the scary unfinished basement, the painted white brick fireplace and the original window panes all called out to me. The day was, June 5, 2004. It was the day we closed and gained access to our new lovely house. I worked tirelessly scrapping and sanding the forest green paint. My hands broke and cracked. I picked out a nice whispering white paint and slowly painted every foot of molding in our house. The place seemed brighter. My Love and I visited every light fixture store within the state and still had a hard time choosing the right fixtures. Rooms were painted. Ventilation was installed in the bathroom and kitchen. The curtains were taken down. The carpet was removed. The brick fireplace was sanded down and tiled over. Our electrician pulled out 300 feet of knob and tube wiring. Our kitchen was remolded. Our basement renovated. More lately we have installed a new bathroom, gutted our possessions, cleaned our roof, painted the exterior of our house, replaced our front porch and repainted all the molding. My yard will be saved for a different post. My hands are still broken and cracked.

Most notably though, we have lived. We have lived in our home for 8 years. It is our first home. We have loved and we have cried in this home. Both kids were brought from the hospital to this home. This home has hosted countless parties and has entertained friends and family. This home has kept us dry and safe. This home has awaken us with its creeks and groans and has rocked us back to sleep. This home has been witness to our happiest moments and to our most regrettable moments. Our home holds us in time and in space. It grounds us to our community, to our family and to our memories. Living is not easy. We have struggled with our home and it has struggled with us.

And now we are about to part ways. How is this properly done? I am not sure. Tonight I am wishing my home could talk. We could laugh about the dust and the clutter and ponder the more significant topic of relocation. After May 25th my home will cease to be mine. I will never enter this house again. We will never again commiserate together. It will melt into the background for me. It will become someone else's home. I dont think I am ready.

How do you properly say, good-bye to a house?  Anyone out there care to comment?

Limbo Land. Too Many Questions. Not Enough Answers.

So it is a new year. A year that will be better (different?) than the next.

Here I am, 12 months later. I wonder if there has been any growth? Any forward movement? Biologically, my kids are one year older. My relationship with My Love is one year longer. My kitty has stopped biting. My house has turned 100 years old. My hair has been growing. There have been really fun moments. There have been really sad moments. There have been really angry moments. There have been really overwhelming moments. There have been really loving moments.

But what does this all mean for me? It seems a bit ironic (is this the right word?) that I started writing in April. My son turns seven (7!!) in two weeks. What a peculiar month. Not winter - spring wants to begin, but there always has to be something holding it back. Limbo land. March has blown it's winds. April tries so hard.

I remember laying in bed with my almost seven year old when he was just a newborn. Both of us falling asleep right after eating. Lying in any position - just tyring to get the sleep that our bodies were due. I would wake sooner and gaze out our window. Stuck in my position until he woke I would dream about my yard and what I wanted to accomplish. The weeds needed pulling. There were blooms that I was missing. I longed to feel the wind that the trees were experiencing. But I stayed put. Allowed him to wake naturally. He ate again and again we were plunged into a deep sleep. Waking only to dream and eat. I missed an entire season. I think now, that is why Spring is so important to me. I don't want to miss another one. But really what did I miss? So much had been gained, right?

So here I am. Happy spring. Happy writing. Happy growing. The catch is, however - I am hard pressed to come up with any non-biological growth. Where are my dreams tonight? What do I yearn for? Has the moment become too big? Have a stopped looking beyond it? There should be goals, right? I yearn for dissatification. I need to pry the bodies off of me and get up, right?

Limbo land. I am an imperfect soul. I want to grow. I want to do right. I want to expereince the joy that happens spontaneously - but I also dont want to lose track of the weeds. I think I have lost track. How do I envelop both?

What's In A Name

How does a nickname find you? Does it lurk behind the shadows waiting to watch your personality unfold itself? Is it given to you at birth? Do you earn it? Does the name bring respect or give you an embarrassing (almost awkward) feeling? Can you name yourself? Does it become you? Is it you?

A true nickname is given out of love. A deep down swell of love. A love that cannot be measured or calculated or even for that matter explained. It comes from history, baggage, a knowing. It comes from a place that cannot ever be uttered. The caller feels it. The receiver understands it. Neither, however, reflect upon it. It is true. Both bow to it. There is an identity. And if born out of love, it is a true identity. Reverence from the name caller. Submission on the part of the receiver. Never spoken aloud. A friendship. A bond. An enchanted space that others may never find.

What's in a name?


UPDATED: March 2014

A Room of Their Own

My kids harass each other every day by calling each other specific nicknames that the other despises. I get annoyed and sometimes come to one of their defenses......
After being outside for the better half of the day Hayden was in the street kicking a soccer ball and Clara was busying with a few neighborhood friends painting and chalking up the sidewalk.
Hayden called out to Clara a couple of times trying to get her attention. He desperately wanted to show her a soccer trick. She was not giving him the time of day.
He then called out, "Clare!" She immediately stopped what she was doing and came running to his side.
In this instant I understood sibling rivalry in all its greatness. A deep , sometimes abysmal, bond that carries ultimate truths mixed with a ton of baggage. A room where no one else is welcomed -- not even parents.
The next time I hear them harassing each other, calling each other by these silly nicknames I will smile, ignore their insults and walk out of their room.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

The clock ticked as the raindrops fell, I wondered aloud if I would ever get to sleep. The room was too hot. My feet too cold. I had charted My Love's sleep cycles at least twice through. I thought I had heard a faint cry - a dream perhaps? My ears kept listening. Words and actions jumbled together creating a delusional, fitful state. I had to pee. Back in bed, pillow fluffed, covers arranged, I closed my eyes and tried to feel the sleep. The clocked ticked and the raindrops fell. My ears were the first to wake. My feet were second. My mouth third. "$&^#*@&^!," I whispered (intentionally loud enough to wake my slumbering Love). Will I ever get any sleep? The cries took me down the hall into a bedroom that seemed too dark, too hot. I shuffled around to find my bundle of joy. Did you have a bad dream? Do you have to pee? Do you want to listen to your music? I cries stopped as fast as they started and I was left standing over a dozing child.

Back in bed I made it known that I had not slept a wink. My Love profusely informed me that I was wrong and that I had been keeping him awake with my snores. True anger swept over my entire being. The clock ticked and the rain finally stopped. My mind bent itself around the smell of coffee. At least I had coffee. I charted a few more of My Love's sleep cycles and then I was falling, falling, falling fast asleep. The dawn came to early when I was honestly informed that it was my turn to go get our wonderful bundle of joy. Remembering that I had been out running the morning prior, I tried to hold my tongue (so hard for me between the hours of 11pm and 6am) as I begrudgingly walked down the hall into our daughter's bedroom.

"Hi, Mom. Do you want to play?"
"Yes, I want to play."

The clock ticked, the rain started to fall  and we played until the rest of the house woke.  My eyes were heavy when I finally served breakfast. I'll sleep when I'm dead, I thought. In the meantime, a hot shower, a hug and a few cups of coffee will probably do the trick. Thankfully My Love knows how to forgive and I know how to forget so we move on - until the next night. ***



***I'm not an insomniac. I really sleep quite well. It's when sleep can't seem to find me that I get pretty irritated. Be glad you are not My Love.

Changing Places

some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. delicious ambiguity...-gilda radner

My Love is on the move again. He is moving his organization into Seattle next week. I anticipate that our family is not far behind. For the moment however, I stand firmly with two feet planted in the dirt. I don't know what is going to happen next. I do know that I would like to stay planted for a little while more. It is not nostalgia. For, while planted, I do not take the time to contemplate the past and its memories. It is not laziness. For while standing at the crossroads I am more than willing to participate in all the tasks that need to be done in order to take the plunge over the edge. And it is not lack of strength. For I know that when the time comes I will muster the strength of lions.

For me, it is about place.  I have accidentally memorized the flight pattens overhead and can predict weather changes based on these flight patterns. I could tell you the exact month of each year by the foliage that surrounds me. I don't need a bus schedule to know when the next bus will arrive. My floorboards creak in all the right places. I have discovered each wind chime and can name its owner in a two block radius. With my eyes closed, I can walk to the nearest Starbucks. I can tell you which park is best to visit in the rain.  I love to listen to the fog horns early in the morning; the trains at night. There is a blue jay that visits me each year. I can --without pause, be at each kid's bedside within 3 seconds of hearing their first nigh time cry. I can identify all the islands and call them by their right names. There is a clear North, South, East and West that is part of my being.

Being planted in this place, my life has not been without change, transition, hiccups and having to make the most of the moment. Leaving the Christian faith, struggling through college, getting married, transitioning into new jobs, getting into shape, falling out of shape, trying so hard to get pregnant, having a child, being laid off, the new dynamics of "family life," giving birth to another child who wasn't able to breath and having to wonder if any of it was worth it, the relief of hearing her first cries, quiting my job and learning how to be a better mother and wife are just a few of my transitions. These transitions were made without a clear understanding or indication of what might happen next.

In 1989 my parents moved us from one house to the next. Just a couple blocks away. Nothing changed for us; except for my place. From age 5 to 12 years of age I breathed and dreamed of only this place. Even moving just a couple of blocks seemed like a foreign country. I would never be able to run my fingers across the smooth stone wall of our "secret passage" that allowed my sister and I to transverse our block in half the time. The "money trees" that grew in our alley would not follow me. I would never again sit on the street curb after a summer rain and splash my feet in the mud. Or lay down on our front lawn to gaze up at the tallest tree waving in the wind. My feet had memorized every foothold in every climbable tree and I would never again smell the bluebells growing on the side yard. This place has held an organic earthly spell over me ever since. I never did climb another tree. It was a different place.

The new place though had a wonderful park with the longest fire poll ever attempted by a 12 year old and a great walk every week to buy jelly bellies and milkshakes with my lovely sister.

I have been planted here in this town (my small place) for the past 30 years. It has supported me, grounded me, cheered me up, given me confidence and carried me through it all. Will a new place carry me? Our lives do not usually follow the path of a storybook. I have always loved reading the last page of a fictional novel before I start a book. I can critique it even before the story begins. I know the ending. I am reassured and stay that way through the entire novel. I cannot read the conclusion of my life. I can't even skip ahead a few chapters. Not having my own place to rely on makes it that much more of a mystery. There is no backdrop.

Being uprooted, means that I need to pack a little extra dirt for the ride.Thankfully I have along a good gardener that can replant me when we get to where we are going. And maybe that is really what it is all about. Backdrops will change. The only thing left to carry me is My Love's devotion and adulation towards me and our adorable children. And isn't this a better place already?


Passing Time by Maya Angelou

Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk

One paints the beginning
of a certain end.

The other, the end of a
sure beginning.