Still Climbing

I am never going to climb out of full time motherhood. I am in it to win it. The complexities of life however, like to creep in. And to be quite honest,  I allowed the complex world back in. I opened myself up. I spat in its face.


I now find myself juggling a full time job (do I have to keep saying "outside of the home"?), two wonderful children with different drop off and pick up schedules, nannying an imaginative, sweet boy in the afternoons, sports schedules, dinner schedules, homework, popcorn Fridays, library days, lunches, laundry, advent, probes landing on a comet, minecraft, sight words, vegetables and a husband  -- you get the idea. I'm barely sleeping. But I'm totally rolling with it. True and simple.


There are times however  that life blows me away, causes me to stop in my tracks, and have no other option but to pay reverence.


A woman, who unfortunately for me does not have a name because I was too busy with trees, woods, warm hands, soccer and traffic to stop and take note, decided to stick with me.


We watch our kids play soccer after school and we talk. We laugh about the frozen weather, I ask her about her dinner plans and we chat about common friends. She has a smile for me every time I spot her. She's real. No makeup, sporting the yoga pants because she really did just work out, a skip in her step and a brilliant smile.


We meet up at the soccer cage most days after school. But today was different.  We spotted each other in a different area, crossing the street with backpacks in hands, the crossing guards asking for us to hurry, she turned around and looked into my eyes and asked me how the new job was going. I wasn't fully engaged and had to ask her to repeat her question and then I mouthed out how busy it all was. She smiled and disappeared and all I was left with were my thoughts.


Had I been too preoccupied with myself to learn her name? Or for that matter, anything about her? What were her big struggles this week? I simply did not know. 


Later in the week we spotted each other at the soccer cage and she again engaged me and pelted me with questions. She answered most my questions with amazing, simple, concrete, spiritual, off the cuff answers, smiling the whole time. And then she disappeared again.


I chided myself for not knowing her name and reminded myself that this is the type of person I should be seeking out. A true friend. A warm, happy soul.


There are countless times in my life that I have walked right past one of these souls. I am too preoccupied with myself. There were always diapers that needed changing, facebook to check, houses to clean, dinners to make, showers to be had and pictures to take.


Re-enering the workforce, rearranging some of my Time, letting go of old priorities and opening myself up to the complexities of life has caused a shift. It is no longer about me. It is about you.  I genuinely want to know your name. I want to understand your hardships. I want to be joyful with you. I deeply feel that we would make great friends.


So...thank you for seeking me out, asking me tough questions, always giving me a smile, showing up in yoga pants and no make up, and for always knowing my name. I am ready to ask your name again and this time  I am ready to remember it.

My Climb Out

Caravanning to the airport, My Love absent mindedly asked me when he would "show up" in my blog posts. My heart melted a bit but my brain noddled on the question and wondered what the answer might be. The leftovers hugged and kissed Daddy a few hundred times as he jumped out of the car, luggage in hand, boarding pass in pocket and as I drove away from the airport I unknowingly chanted, 14 days. 14 days. 14 days.

My Love had promised not to travel this summer. And he held true to his promise. The cracks in our marriage were beginning to become a nuisance and we both thought it would be better if he were home more. Now, well into Fall and two long trips under his belt I begin to wonder what impact it had. We did have a few date nights and My Love was also able to take some long weekends with our family but my agitation with his absence still loomed large. He of course had to work to provide but I had warped my brain into yoga-posed thoughts as to why he couldn't take more (and more) time off. 

Recently he asked me to go to New York with him and I should have jumped at the possibility. Alone time with My Love. But alas I have a hard time with commitment. The problem being, I am too committed.

I accepted a full time, around the clock, job four years ago and ever since I have been committed to seeing it through -far exceeds exceptions type of commitment. I committed to the Littles. That was the priority. We both thought it would be best. See them through the Toddler Years. Support their successfullness in Grade School. Be there. For them. And I did it. I did it to the best of my ability, with all the grace and anger you can imagine. As My Love ventures off to New York in December I will support our Littles with school schedules, sports, playdates, school projects, sicknesses and anything and everything else that seems to come my way. No matter the cost.

My agitation is piled up miles high and my committed resources are expended. No Matter The Cost has become too much. I have decided it is Time to climb down from my high horse, walk away from my 150% commitment to our Littles, and it is Time to get a job. My first day of work, outside of the home, is November 14, 2014.

It is Time to allow My Love the choice to commit to his Littles and to me.

And he did. He chose us. My Love decided to fly home one day early from his 14 day overseas trip to allow me to attend an all day training session with my new company.

I realize now that he has been choosing us all along. My Love chose to work hard for his family. He provided for his family, on his own, for four long years. As my agitation and commitment levels rose he also rose to the occasion and fed us, clothed us, kept us warm, provided what little funds he could for extracurricular activities and always tried his best to show up.

I am ready to share My Love's load. He has always been ready to share mine. I am ready for him to show up.

Stay tuned. 

It Goes So Slow

November 6th marks four years since I decided to quit my job to be home full time with my kids. As my Loyal Companion, 9 year old son always says, "it goes slow when you're in it but fast when you look back on it."

Since that day 4 years ago, I have not missed going into the office. I actually like taking my showers later in the day in between bouts of Curious George and Sid the Science Guy.

I love pulling on yoga pants and a t-shirt in the morning; applying deodorant, running my hands through my hair and walking back out through the bathroom door within 3 minutes. When I do catch a glimpse of myself passing by a mirror or a glass paned door, in between the constant carpools and grocery store runs, I see strength and confidence.

I treasure the greeting of my kids in the morning, making breakfast and sitting a while. All smiles, planning our next big adventure.

I enjoy driving slowly to school pointing out the changing of the leaves to yellows and reds. My Bundle of Joy in the back seat singing to herself ever so softly asks me when it will snow.  Flipping on my phone I see that my Loyal Companion made it to school with his gang of friends and I text him back goofy love messages that he conveniently ignores.

My long walks in between the rain showers are lovely. My mind wanders around and noodles on life's questions, my body breathes in health and my spirit gains balance. As I walk through my front door I am accosted by tiny spirits that linger in the air and waft through the rooms. As I clean house their memories surround me and I am comforted.

Other mornings I forgo my long walks and my heart swells with joy as I enter the school to perform my volunteer duties. As I catch a glimpse of my children they smile mischievous smiles and I make it a point to learn all their friends names.

As my Bundle of Joy disembarks from the bus I delight in park time with friends. As I watch my daughter swing higher and higher I begin to unravel new friendships.  As she scales the park equipment and sways from one monkey bar to the next, I begin to plan dinner. 

I savor lunchtime with my Bundle of Joy. She opens up about her day and we imagine together. We eat whatever and where ever we want. As she flits off to enjoy her room I pick up my broom, empty the trash, clean counters, prepare after school snacks and find uniforms and equipment for all the after school activities. Bags packed.

I revel in my Loyal Companion's smile when he sees me waving at him through a sea of elementary kids. His big bear hug is all I need. His friends crowd around us and we talk about the next time we should all get together. Sometimes with no schedule, we make plans for the now and he and his friends drop their backpacks at my feet and gallop off to the soccer cage. I am pleased to carry the packs, knowing that my son is free from school, free from structure, free to play uninhibited.

Other times when there is no time after school, I admire my Loyal Companion's fast trot back to the car. We scoot off down the hill  - just enough time on the road to change into uniforms and guzzle down snacks. It pleases me to hear the snacks being crunched loudly, the crumbs somehow symbolizing the nurturing sustenance I have given them.

I love that we argue over homework during the dinner hour and that once started, it hardly takes any time at all. I savor all the Fairy books I have ever read to my daughter and the twinkle in her eye that develops during any suspense or danger. I cherish a quick ping pong game with my Loyal Companion after his sister is in bed. I am crazy about the fact that my Loyal Companion still likes to be read to and even through my eyelids are drooping I love listening to him tell me stories about his day. 

As I descend the stairs I begin to think about lunches, tupperware and water thermoses. I cherish the quietness as I create healthy lunches and begin to ponder breakfast.

I'm off to bed too late but take pleasure in checking on my kids, rearranging their bed covers and kissing them lightly on their ruffled heads, knowing that at least one more time I will be back before the sun decides to wake.

Each day, each passing hour has gone so slow, but as I look back on it, everything has gone so fast. Too fast. Knowing that the speed limit changes to hyperdrive once the moment is over I am remembering to cherish and breathe. I know that there might come a day when I will begrudgingly take a shower early in the morning, put on nice clothes, sneak out before my kids wake up and return home sometimes when they are already asleep.

For now though I will continue to respect the slow passing of time, the new phases, the milestones, every sickness, new friendships, the cleaning, the laughter, the cries, the hugs, the lack of sleep, the lunches and everything in between.

The Power Is Out

People talking

Surface washing

Oops a bit too deep 

Cover it up - quick quick 

Smooth  it out with a bit of rain

But the wind comes clean

And we are wondering about the connection 

Bonds too shallow
Stumbled over the roots

Power lost tonight.

I Walk Alone Now

I walk alone now

No stroller to push

No bike to race after 

No parks worth stopping for

No cries to comfort

No hands to warm

No smiles to gaze upon

No tricks to watch

No treasures to carry

No hats to affix 

No giggles to imitate

No baby weight left
I walk alone.

All the Time in the World.

As I watch for my not-so-little Bundle of Joy to disembark from the school bus my heart runs wild. As my gaze settles my nerves slow down and I wait for her to lock eyes with me. It doesn't happen. She is busy. Busy watching her friends. She barely slows down enough for a hug until she is skipping across the street (c'mon, Mom, the bus has its signals on!) to the park where all her friends seem to be happily swinging and climbing their hearts out.

Didn't they all just get off the bus together? It feels like we are showing up late to the party. I want to run after my Bundle of Joy and ask how Music was today. What did she do at recess? Did she wash her hands? But I am held down by a water bottle and a back pack. Idle hands decide to rifle through the paperwork, looking for some clue.  A piece to the puzzle.

As I look up she is waving goodbye to her friends and running towards me. "My friends leave the park after school so quickly, but we have all the time in the world," she states. She asks me to swing.

We swing.

Hanging in the air together she reminds me that it is picture day tomorrow and that she got to go to Music class today. It is then that I remember I found something for her while on my run earlier that day. When she stops her swing I hide the treasures behind my back and make her guess for a while. I display two acorns for her, a small one and a big one (a Mom and a baby). She is so delighted that she does a spin in the air and a hop skip up the stairs to the monkey bars.

After we are bored with the park we walk up to Acorn Lane and fill a leftover ziplock with bunches of acorns. When her Dad returns home this evening she is so proud to show him the acorns. We worked so hard painting and coloring each individual one with different colors and shapes.

Our lunch found us and we wolfed down two white sweet potatoes (with sour cream of course), pepperoni, strawberries and tomatoes. I didn't stop to think about the nutritional values we just ate what sounded good. Half way through our lunch we decided to finish watching Turbo (DreamWorks).

At 330pm we showed up at my 9 year old Loyal Companion's school with new shoes and socks (picture day tomorrow!) and a bag of popcorn.

Yes, my dear, we have all the Time in the world. So tomorrow, when you jump off the bus and high tail it over to the park to play with friends I will remember why. You are certain (beyond a shadow of a doubt) that I will always be here - that your Mom will always have Time. For you.

In the meantime, you are trying to squeeze in every last second with everyone else. And that is okay. I understand.

Found Space - Nothing to Lose

Sit awhile within the Space afforded.

I am a planner. An organizer. I need all events to go smoothly, as planned. I prepare. I intentionally go over the next day's events so that I am ready before my feet hit the floor the next morning. Most times my organization keeps our family ship afloat and might I dare say, sailing calmly with the breeze.

Before summer had even whispered its name I had curriculum picked out and projects planned for my Littles. The days had been counted and sliced into nice neat packages. 10 weeks of learning the alphabet, math, social studies, science, parks, friends, beaches, reading, hikes, biking and so on. Every day, planned out. A successful summer before it even began.

To be honest though I wasn't looking forward to summer. I wanted it to be clean, precise and then over and back to school. Don't get me wrong, I of course wanted my kids to have a good time and with all my planning they sure as better have fun! But I was already thinking of October. As soon as I finish planning I skip over the present moment and go on to planning the next big hurdle. A glorified tour guide, never really seeing the sights.

Circumstances in life tug on you, try to get you think about things with a different perspective. My not-so-little Bundle of Joy's recent cycle of sickness and all of our Lost Time definitely tried to undo my organization - my clear and concise way of living. But I would always fight back. I had a tight grip on the future and knew what it should look like. I did not want to waste any Time.

So it was quite a surprise to me when I began to look forward to living within the present summer season. I began to listen more attentively to my Little's questions and we engaged in open ended conversations and silly hyperboles. I began to appreciate lazy pancake mornings. I swam with my Littles instead of sitting on the shore looking at my watch. I happily rode a bike, had water squitter battles and looked for treasures with my Littles. Each day there seemed to be Space within Time where I could just be and enjoy - breathe. This found Space was intriguing.

My pre planning Time sequence of events still marched on succinctly this summer however a  new Space opened itself up. Today on our last day of summer we ventured out to Seward Park. There was a schedule to keep however and I knew we had to be back for dinner, showers and early before school bedtimes. After playing at the park, dipping into the lake, picnic ing, and bike riding around the peninsula my Littles and I found ourselves back at the zipline swing. One more time, started adding up to too many times and I started looking at the clock.

"Mom, you should really try this!" my 9 year old Loyal Companion belted out after zipping down and jumping off. I wasn't sure but decided I had nothing to lose and jumped onto the swing. My Littles pushed me out over the ledge and I zipped down, hit to end and swung high into the air. A smile tickled my face. I had figured it out.  I had nothing to lose. In that instant I realized how much Time I have lost to planning, preparing and coordinating. Wasted days organizing the next days.

In that instant, on the zipline swing, I felt so sad and envious of my Lost Time. I was angry at myself for selfishly using my living days to plan my not-yet-lived days. Not much more could be lost.

I found the Space within Time to line up again for the zipline swing. My Littles and I zipped over and over again for we had everything to gain.

Finding the Space within Time to live within the present moment is important. We can get so caught up in the planning of our lives that we never really live our lives. We have everything to gain from stealing back the present moment from Lost Time and carving out Space to live - to breathe.

Summer Wishes for my Littles

Loosen your grip as the colors dance by.

Dunk your head in cool waters.

Capture the breeze of an air vent

As sweat trickles down.

Laugh with delight.

Bike like the wind.

Read with ambition.

Forget what comes next lunch, dinner or bed.



Lost Time.

I've been wondering for a while how to tell this particular story as I've been waiting for the end. Sometimes though there is no end to a story, just like sometimes there is no beginning. It is like a snapshot in Time where the edges have grown fuzzy. So I enter upon the story in the middle.

I've always told my not-so-little Bundle of Joy that the best part of being sick is in the getting better. But what if you don't get better, she asks me now? What then is the best part of being sick?

It's been almost a year and my 5 year old has been sick every month (sometimes twice in a month) with horrible stomach aches which cause vomiting and diarrhea . These stomach aches can last anywhere from 4-7 days. She cannot eat, gets dehydrated, loses weight, is unable to sleep and teeters on the brink of an emotional breakdown. She's been poked, pricked, scoped and tested too many times to count. She has lost days and days to sickness.

I remember thinking it must be the stomach flu. But how many stomach flus can one child have? I remember asking her pediatrician if this had anything to do with the soy and dairy allergies she has as a baby? I remember trying hard to make sense of it all.  Food journals, food exclusions, probiotics, heavy water consumption - nothing worked. She kept getting sick. Every month.

I keep thinking the answers are just around the corner. While waiting for her GI doctor after her endoscopy and colonoscopy I was sure we would have a diagnoses. Nothing. He referred us to an allergist who pricked 70 holes in my child's back and then proceeded to ask for 13 vials of blood. I was sure then that there would be an answer. Nothing.

I have held my Bundle of Joy for countless hours as she writhes in pain. Her watery blue eyes looking up at me for answers. I have no answers, only Time.

I have clutched my Bundle of Joy's hair for her as she pukes countless times. Small sips of 7-Up and a wet washcloth are all I have to give.

I have slept with my Bundle of Joy for countless nights, running with her in my arms to the bathroom so that she doesn't have an accident in her paints. Soft toilet paper and diaper cream are my only offerings.

I have wiped away countless tears and have listened to countless frustrations. Fun days at preschool, lost. A day at the lake with friends, lost. A good night sleep, lost. Days of playing and just being a kid, lost. Breakfasts, lost. Lunches, lost. Dinners, lost. My Bundle of Joy has lost so much Time.

Somewhere a while back she have up on getting better. It was so much easier in the beginning to fight through the sickness when there was no perspective on what this mystery ailment might be. The last time she was sick however there was no toughing it out. The emotions bubbled to the surface instantly.

We are still desperately trying to find the key to a diagnoses in hopes that this cycle can be broken.  But for now, when my Bundle of Joy wakes up, says she's not hungry and that her tummy hurts, we sit awhile and remember the good days. We re-tell stories of what we've been up to lately. We silently recognize the lost Time and begin to think of others.

There are Others who struggle with Lost Time.  And  although it is not our Story to tell we begin to acknowledge the struggles outside of our own.

This started out slowly. Historical struggles being the easiest to teach we have learned about Abraham Lincoln, Mother Teresa and now Harriet Tubman. She stumbles onto questions that have no answers. These struggles ruminate within her. Each week this summer I have decided to focus on a historical person, highlighting their struggles, giving My Bundle of Joy perspective on Lost Time.

So what is the best part of being sick if you cannot get better she wonders now. I don't know, I tell her. Maybe we learn to have compassion for others and their Lost Time. Maybe we learn to give grace more freely to those who are painfully struggling. Maybe we become less egocentric, recognizing that there is hurt everywhere in this world. And maybe we begin to understand how we may be useful to others and for others. Maybe it is not about getting better but about how we choose to struggle. I dwell on this for a while. I hope beyond hoping that her body finds peace but if getting better never comes I know that the compassion assimilated into her soul during these Lost Times will have far reaching effects.

My Bundle of Joy has lost Time but through it is gaining a softheartedness for the struggles of others. Each struggle is important. Each hurt should be cared for. You are not alone.

I Chased the Sun Today

I chased the Sun today.
Lassoed it to Time,
But the rope that held it tight fractured
Into a plume of saturation.
The moon was up
Smiling down with its Cheshire grin
As the wash of afterglow
Descended onto me.
Then only darkness at the end of day.

The In Between Times


This post is dedicated to my not so little Bundle Of Joy who on a daily basis is battling her body's reaction to life. Sickness abounds in our family, but she presses on. Refusing to allow her body to reside in the in between times. Always hoping for a better day. Always reminding me that the brightest thunder-bolt is elicited from the darkest storm.





When raising kids, it is hard to recognize the in between times. Mostly these transitional times feel like they will last forever. There is no perspective, no compass, no direction. There is just the Now. The accepted way. The label.

There may be a slight chance however that during one of these in between times, if you pay careful attention,  you may briefly see beyond. A portal.

Trust me, it is simply a mirage but it will keep you moving forward, I promise.

My long ago First Born 2 year old loved the baby swings. He could sit for many minutes, always asking for more pushes. We would push him so high. His smiles were so wonderful. His laugh so contagious. Sometimes while pushing him from behind, we would lightheartedly pull off his shoes and throw them in the air. His ecstatic crazy laughter would ring to the heavens. No one could resist the happiness, the lightness of being. It was a truly an amazing event to be a party to.

But alas, my First Born never learned how to pump. He graduated into the Big Boy swings hesitantly. By age 4 he much preferred to run around on the playground, playing hide and go seek or some sort of Star Wars lightsaber game.  The swings were forgotten so quickly. Enter the in between time.

The in between time can last for so long -  until the child determines to find themselves again. I imagine this happens again after puberty and on into the teenage years (but I'm not there yet). This in between time is such a lonely road for parents. The nagging, the discipline, the loving, the sleepless nights, the rewards and the simple teaching is a one way street. No longer is the laughing synchronized. No longer do we have the same mission.

It is easy to begin to forget.

Forget the uninhibited laughter.

Forget the spontaneous habits.

Forget the easeful happy nature.

Enter the in between time. This time can last a day, a month or sometimes a few years. I am caught up with the Now. I try so hard to help us all get better. To get us back on track. Wishful thinking in the midst of war. Weapons in the form of medicine, tutors, consequences, hugs, tone of voice, lullabies and routines enter the scene. Blinders are worn by parents so that we don't feel the hurt. The hurt of loss. Loss of our child.

And then all of a sudden a time portal opens and we see beyond the now. We see our child's happy future.  We see the payoff.

Last evening, I coaxed my First Born 9 year old to get on a swing. My smile already was starting to spread. He allowed me to push him higher and higher. His unabashed happiness at the highness of his swing and the air pushing past him made me laugh. I laughed and he laughed together for a long while. He intently listened to me instructing him on how to move his body so that he could push himself. And he swung himself higher and higher. I glowed in his presence. This was my portal into my child's future. I held on for as long as I could - I got as close as I could to the center of the portal without stepping through. Hope.

As life lumbers by there are these glimpses of hope that pass us by so quickly. My fingers have been broken from holding on so tightly. I desire to see the end result but dearly don't want to miss what's right in front of me. I let go. I give in to the In Between. 

As I gaze back upon my 37 years of life it is the In Between moments (years) that have become hazy. Mostly it is the Portals I remember. A moment of freedom. I remember feeling this way during my 6th grade Field Day. It was a lovely spring day in Garfield Park. The chains that held the swings went up for a mile. My hair danced in the wind. My lips couldn't help but perk up. My body swung within the motion of our earth. I laughed through my awkwardness. There was hope.

I live through Hope. Hope that someday my First Born will remember to dance uninhibited to his own forgotten tune without being weighed down by his In Between times.

The Journey Towards Home

The journey towards Home can sometimes stray off the well manicured, linear, wide path onto more of a rugged trail. It is during these rocky and rough times that my body and soul search for fortitude and brace for impact. I have to resist all instincts to turn around and retreat. I have to keep walking forward. My body instinctively counterbalances itself and my bones become rugged. My muscles become more nimble. My senses acuminate. My heart bleeds and my hands grow calloused. 

These deer trails sometimes sneak up on me unexpectedly. Other times however I have previewed the map and knowingly walk out bravely onto the unpolished terrain.

Each one of these narrow twisting trails have marked me. I have grown accustomed to berry bush thorns, poison ivy, a dapple of sunlight, loose rocks, hidden streams, bears, baby bunnies, tree roots and blisters dancing over, through and past my body. As the rugged trail weaves its way back to my more manicured boardwalk I feel weathered, wrinkled and exposed.

Before stepping out onto the wide path again I remember the hardiness of the trail; the adventurous, spontaneous and lost nature of the trail and I hear myself congratulating herself for finding the wide path once again. These emotions become crisp as toast as I feel myself moving closer towards Home. I bottle this emotion and save it within my heart so that the next time, when my instincts are yelling at me to turn around, when the path veers off into rugged terrain, I will keep moving forward -- always towards Home.

This Home can allude many of us at certain times and we can forget which way the trail should be cut. Our rocky deer trails sometimes veer off onto sideways benders with no hope for rectitude. Even when your Home has been etched onto your soul sometimes it can morph into a wasteland of obscure shadows. There is no guarantee that we will all keep moving closer, towards Home.

Make sure you remembered to leave the lights on in your Home so that as you draw near you may always recognize it and not pass it by.

Decorate your Home with items that you love so that you will naturally gravitate towards it in times of confusion.

Carry a piece of your Home with you at all times. In the case that your heart is bleeding, this piece can be fashioned as a temporary Band-Aid.

Never lose your keys.

And during every moment of your brutish, nasty, rugged overgrown adventure continually remind yourself to keep moving. Never sit down.

I have stepped off my well manicured path. I have ventured down the rugged trail many times. I haven't yet found the wide lawn leading me up to my Home but I am continuing forward. Each moment brings me closer. I refuse to sit, my fingers linger over the keys in my pocket. I carry a piece of my Home in my heart and I have decorated my Home with items that I truly love. The lights are on. I think I can see it in the distance. I'll keep moving with the knowledge that every step takes me closer to my Home.

My Story

There is a moment between the moments that quietly beckons for my attention. The call is so small, a whisper on the wind, it passes and I faintly catch its whiff before it has moved on. The smell though sometimes lingers and I find myself walking through rooms of old memories, snapshots that loom larger than life; a museum filled with artifacts of a life long passed.

If, however, I am able to apprehend the moment between the moments, and heed it's calling I can slow it down, control Time, selfishly manipulate it to sit a while before moving on.  In these instances I catch the memories before they happen. I anticipate the wonder and bewilderment of the moment and within the stillness I can write My Story before it unfolds.

Bedtime for me has always been a hurry up, brush your teeth, go potty, let's read, okay goodnight type of routine. Thankfully for me both my kids have certain habits that slow me down.

My first born (my Loyal Companion) picks out a stuffed animal each night and I have to be the stuffed animal and I have to decide where we are going to meet in our dreams. My not so little Bundle of Joy asks me for butterfly kisses and she dictates where on her face these butterfly kisses will land. So many butterfly kisses.

When My Loyal Companion was a mere six years old our nightly reading routine included the Secrets of Droon series. These books propelled his imagination and set off a ritual of crazy adventures that he swore took up his dreams each night. Being the introvert that he is though, he always wanted a partner. After reading to him at night we would talk about where we wanted to go in our dreams. What adventures we wanted to have.

We imagined together a massive mansion, each room being a different adventure. Each night when I turned out the lights we would talk about our rooms and we would decide which room to meet up in when our dreams took over.   Some nights would be even crazier, with different color slides that would propel us into different rooms.

Over time these conversations were whittled down and unfortunately I  cannot tell you what the last room was that we entered together.

Stuffed animals entered into our conversation once and it became effortlessly easier for me to expeditiously pick out an animal and a place for us to meet in our dreams. I wrapped up the conversation neatly so that the lights could be turned out quickly.

Now, as I ask him which stuffed animal he wants me to be I am perplexed and a bit hurried. There is no time to imagine together. Plus he asks ME to pick out our dream location each night and sometimes, I have to admit, there is no creativity.  I fly through it too fast and I am gone. Gone downstairs to do whatever job didn't get done within the waking hours. He is left. Left to imagine alone. The moment between the moment has passed us by. The smell lingers. It wafts through the rooms. A museum of artifacts.

As I turned out the light and closed the door on my Loyal Companion's sister this evening my heart was only on the clock. One down. One more to go. Climbing the stairs I yelled out to my Loyal Companion that he better have his PJs on because it was time for bed. As I hit the last stair I realized that my Bundle of Joy had not asked for her ritualistic butterfly kisses. Is this how it happens? One day they realize that I am really not paying all that much attention?

I ran back to her room. She gazed up at me with sleepy, dreamy eyes. I confessed that I had forgotten our butterfly kisses and she opened up to me with one of the hugest hugs I have ever been given and I held on.  I had caught the moment between the moments and I refused to let it go.

It was too late as I turned out my Loyal Companion's light tonight. I was tired. However, a couple of nights ago we had started a new series, Spirit Animals, and as we closed the book I could not help but ask him who he thought his spirit animal was. A smile journeyed across his face and his eyes sparkled. He had an answer and as he talked I listened, deeply listened. When I turned out the lights I picked up his stuffed spirit animal and asked HIM where we should go in our dreams. As he conjured up an unknown suspenseful world I slowed down and allowed myself to imagine alongside him. I had caught the moment between the moments and I refused to let it go.

My Story unfolds itself in the space between the moments when I am not usually paying that much attention. As I gaze back upon My Story it overwhelms and saddens me that I have allowed myself to be so distracted within this sacred space. I am awake now, writing My Story before it unfolds. Allowing myself the space and Time for dreams.

Dear Soon to be Mama

 

"May we be fully present, here and now, aware of the gift of each moment.
May we pay attention with kindness to what is happening within us and within our children.
May our hearts open wide with compassion for ourselves, our children, and our world.
May we live fully in our bodies as we bless our families each day.
May we open to the great love and grace that holds us all.
May we care for each other and for the earth as we draw wide the circle of our family.
May we all find peace.
May we all be well."

Denise Roy, MOMfulness: Mothering with Mindfulness, Compassion, and Grace 

Leave all your expectations at the door. Do not, under any circumstances bring any baggage into the delivery room.  You will be carrying enough with you when you exit. Do make peace with your soon to be past self. Examine yourself closely and pick one trait that you will hold close to your heart. Let all others fly away with the breeze. They can and will be replaced.

Close your eyes. This is the hard part. Your body will need you after your bundle of joy is born but you will not be able to tend to it. This is the first sacrifice. There is no need to be scared of blood, for it is your own blood. Your body will heal itself without you. Your body knows that it has been abandoned and that you wont be coming back for a very long time.

Your bundle of joy will cry for a very long periods of time for no apparent reason. You will be rendered helpless. Your bundle of joy will also sleep for very long periods of time and you will also be rendered helpless. Take your helpless feelings and flush them down the toilet. Snuggling this package tightly whether they are asleep or wailing is all you need to do. Do not shove milk in their face. Do not wildly search the internet at 2am for answers. Do not yell at your partner. Just give love, unceasingly. This is the most helpful you will ever get to be.

Remember to listen to your gut. There is so much information out there. Don't let this information rule your life. Your instincts will sometimes have to take over. Have confidence in your instincts.  Do not let intellect get in the way.

Be smart. Learn to recognize your own panic signals. Do not under any circumstances confuse panic with instinct.

Remember to allow Time to cradle you. It passes so slowly. Nap with your bundle of joy. Laugh with them. Sing, dance and cry with them. Take each passing second as a gift. Settle into Time and allow it to slow you down. Learn to manipulate Time for these purposes but don't disrespect Time as you will find, it may be your last (and truest) companion.

Have patience and always show up with your smile.

When you find yourself alone, which will not happen often, do not give in to laziness. Take a walk, eat a healthy snack, take a shower or start a project. Your body will be happier and will thank you later.

Do not, under any circumstances, give up.  Adjust your sails routinely, hold fast to your commitment, and allow the breeze to carry you forward.

First and Last

 

 

 

The one problem I have with trees is that they don't get to decide whether they live or die. We don't get to decide either. Live this moment as you are seeing it for the first time and for the last time. Everything in between is a gift. A gift of time - nothing more, nothing less.

Turn Around



Memories should not be relied on to transport us back in time
but used to transport us into the future - our treasure map,
leading us through the memories to come.

Turn around. Look back. Remember to remember.

There are a few memories that have found a place close to my heart. They seem to rise above the rest. I have no photos from these moments. I have no witnesses. I have no proof that they even existed. I have never written about these memories. There are no Facebook posts to help me thread meaning back into my emotions. I have never, until recently, even uttered a word about the sequence of events that unfolded during these specific moments.

The difference, the reason I cherish these two moments, is that I remembered to remember as my memory (my moment) was unfolding. I looked back and turned around while in the midst of the memory. Many memories are manipulated by perspective. We conjure up what we can remember with the lens of who we are today. Our memories are colored by our perspective and this can subconsciously warp our identity.

However when we live within our perspective selves, always using our future self to help mold the moment our memories can truly be depended upon. And also so can we.

It was a quiet, breathless night. Our 100 year old house oozed sweat. Even with all the windows open there was no breeze. Our four month old had taken to only sleeping when on top of me and that made matters all the worse. Lying there drifting in and out of sleep I was remotely aware that I had started the sprinkler when there had been daylight. As I gazed out the window there was only darkness. I felt the time. It must have been pretty late. Hazily I remembered My Love getting the call. There was very bad news on the other end. He had left hours ago. A baby had died. Waiting for adoption paperwork, a baby had died. Died in her sleep. I was left alone with the heat, the darkness, my sprinkler and our first born son. I was breathless.

The weight of the moment punched me again and again as I would wake to dream. The darkness surrounded me. At each pelting of the sprinkler I imagined how much money we were wasting. My four month old slept soundly but I grew restless, weepy and lonely.

Then it happened. I made myself turn around. I looked back. My future self found me and comforted me. She showed me the sequence of events clearly as I had grown quite fuzzy. Together we reenacted the last several hours and I became more focused.  I felt the heat tickle my body. I smelled my son's hair and ran my fingers over his soft head. My body adjusted itself and I soaked up my son's breaths. My ears no longer were stressed listening to the wasteful sprinkler. The running water comforted my nightmare that had been pushed deep down within me. The death of a child. A baby. My future self held me in her arms and spoke harsh truths. These truths thankfully were wrapped in lullabys and I drifted back into a fitful sleep.

The moment had become crisp and clear at the edges. There was no fuzziness. And I remembered to remember.

I would love to tell you that I got up that night and turned off the sprinkler. That I put my baby down in his crib. That I took a cold shower. I would love to tell you that I rehearsed my conversation with my absent Love and when he got home that I held him in his moment of grief. But none of that happened.

If I had not taken the time to pause, to turn around, to look back and find my future self all of these moments may have happened. Over time memories can be corrupted into pretty little packages. But it was not a pretty night. It was brutish and ugly. I inhaled the emotions and allowed myself to quietly rest with my son on my chest until morning.

My future self and me met again within the same realm the day my second child was born. We smiled at each other for we had already experienced the pain of death together and we remembered to remember.

Memories pile up. They are the architect of our identities. But if our memories become perverted by time then are our identities also false?  Are we untrue?  Are our memories so easily manipulated?

It had finally stopped raining and my not so little bundle of joy and me were off to the park. She had a backpack full of spy gear and she was ready for an adventure. We climbed the play structure together and she haphazardly rambled about our spy game and its rules and definitions. When we reached the top she unzipped her backpack and handed me a pair of binoculars. I sat down and took a look. At that moment my future self held out her hand to me. She pointed out the newly returning birds perched in the treetops. She opened my ears and I heard the wind whipping and hollering. I smelled sawdust from the new housing development and felt the end of winter. I paused to remember. I looked back on the moment as it was unfolding and made it how I remembered it to be. That day my not so little bundle of joy and I took out many treasures from her backpack. We sat, watched, listened, smelled, wrote (yes she brought a clipboard) and whispered for hours. As our hands turned icy we in turn headed for home.

I would love to tell you that I snapped a hundred photos. That while playing with her, I was also trying desperately to read the latest "Mommy Blog" that would miraculously tell me how to be a better mother. I would love to tell you that I sat on a park bench while she played and I chatted with all the other moms, having deep conversations about what to feed our family for dinner. But none of that happened.

If I had not taken the time to pause, to turn around, to look back and find my future self all of these moments could have happened. Thankfully my future self and I had met prior. We had found each other again on top of another, different park structure, long ago, when my first born was only two years old.  I was working fulltime and the time I did get to spend at the park was a treasure. I remember pausing during one of these outings, reminding my future self not to waste a second. 

Memories can live in the past, continually warping and perverting our identities or our memories can live within the present, with a forecast upon the future, continually shaping our perspective. Navigating the waters. Our treasure map for what's to come. Dependable, trustworthy and reliable.

Dead Trees

Five years ago I watched helplessly as one of my favorite front yard Hemlock pine trees got sick and died. One spring morning I noticed a few brown needles. The next day I noticed that these needles were dropping to the ground in copious amounts. A few weeks later I was hard pressed to find any green on the tree. We took a clipping to a horticulturalist. He was stumped and told us that it must be some sort of disease and that our tree would eventually die.

By the end of summer it was dead and My Love cut it down. It made me sick.

The next spring this so called disease had spread and killed another one of my front yard garden trees. We never did figure it out. Both trees left a gapping hole in our front yard garden, never to be replaced.

I have heard that a tree can live forever, that if you could prevent it from being blown down or succumbing to drought or disease that it has unlimited growth potential. 

I grieved for these trees, for the privacy that they had given us and for the shade they afforded us in the late summer months. But mostly I grieved for that second tree. Without its partner's disease it may have gone on growing and living for an eternity.  It felt weirdly wrong to have to watch this second tree die. 

People can wither up as well. Healthy, strong, abled bodies can decay emotionally and physically -  riddled with afflictions, addictions, insurmountable hurdles and disease. It is a helpless feeling to watch someone decay. It is weirdly wrong though when this decay spreads into close relationships, families and friendships.

It saddens me that, more often than not, there is a "second" person who becomes the unfortunate benefactor of  this decay and the otherwise healthy person may begin down a similar path of afflictions, addictions, hurdles and diseases when their only initial fault was close proximity.


Emotionally I used to be a lot like my favorite dying front yard tree. I refused to admit it and helplessly watched as I tried to destroy my relationship with My Love, yelled at my kids too often, complained for the sake of complaining and drank myself into a state of feeling numb. It's not pretty. It makes me sick to even have to write these words. But it is the truth. I was not healthy and I was riddled with afflictions.

Most importantly though, my state of being was affecting the ones I loved. When that second tree died in my front yard garden I grieved more for it than the first tree. I had no idea I loved it as much as I did. Disease and decay spread. We pull others down into our abyss and regrettably they sometimes have no choice but to die along side us.

My constant yelling and crazy stressed out impatience with my kids was fostering disrespect, sadness, insecurities and distrust within our family unit. My first born's anxieties sky rocketed and his kindness towards other plummeted. My not-so-little bundle of joy had to learn to be tough, not show emotion and keep her childish ways in check.

Both of my children have been severely hurt by my lack of compassion. I unknowingly set up lifelong hurdles and afflictions that they will now have to battle alone.

My lack of gratefulness to and for My Love, my standoffishness and at times confusing brittle attitude pulled My Love down a hideous path of sarcasm, doubt, defensiveness and anger.  He began to tiptoe around my vacant spirit, learned to second guess my sporadic genuine feelings while keeping his own emotions tightly bottled.

I gave him these afflictions. His close proximity to me plagued him with handicaps that to this day he still has to battle.

I watched as my family was riddled with diseases. At the time I didn't think I had the power to change these situations so I began to numb my sadness with alcohol. I masked my self loathing with unending complaints of others. The drinks unknowingly added up until most of my thought space was taken up with thoughts of another drink. I had quite successfully riddled myself with disease and it was spreading.

Then one evening I remembered the second dead tree in my front yard garden. I remembered my surprise upon discovering that it was indeed this second dead tree that was my favorite. I remembered mourning for that second dead tree well after I had forgotten about the first dead tree.  I still sometimes wonder how many more healthy years that tree could have lived. Unlimited growth potential. Unfortunate proximity.

At that moment I decided that My Love and my children did not deserve to be that second tree. I loved them more than myself. They were my favorites and I was destroying them. I would endure my battles and fight to win not for myself but for them. I stopped drinking, learned how to calm my inner stressful thoughts, stopped yelling so much, started a path back to My Love and eventually ceased complaining about anything and everything. It was the most delicate, unyielding assault on my personhood. I put it all in and battled fiercely.

I am not proud that my family had to walk with me through the dark. I have given them unfortunate scars and wounds that may never heal. I am proud though that along with myself I am helping bring them back to life - one branch at a time.  We are connected through our roots and this proximity is more important to me than they will ever know.