"Up!"
She reached her chubby, but tiny, arms as high as she could. It was one of her first words that everyone could understand and react to.
I bent down and happily obliged, snuggling my quickly growing baby. In a little over a year she had gone from tiny newborn to vocal baby. The months had slipped by at lightning speed.
"Up!!!"
She smiled a gummy smile. Words had power. Her words. Her power.
______________________________________________________
"Do you think it'll follow us home?"
Her eyes were fixed on the moon. She had recently discovered it and was completely fascinated.
"We are going home now, c'mon moon."
Nearly every night that we were out, she would have these little conversations. Coaxing the moon to follow along. Her two year old brain was trying to understand much much bigger things these days.
"Mommy, can you pick it up the moon for me?"
Her thoughts were growing so fast with her, I tried to keep up.
________________________________________________________
"Can you pick me up?"
She has been asking some form of that request nearly daily since gaining the ability to say words. I wrapped my arms around her and pretended to strain against her weight.
"I am getting so big, Mommy!!"
She was. Over 3 years old. Her body has grown, her mind has grown, her imagination and her temper. Everything is big these days. Big resistance and bigger dreams. Our days are filled with big. Small requests to wash hands or pick up toys become big. Big fights, big compromises, big sighs, big love. My little girl is big in so many ways. I relish the moments that she wants me to hold her. They are fleeting. If I blink too slowly, hesitate for a second, I may miss my chance. So, I grab it, I grab ahold of her and the moment. I squeeze her and cover her in kisses. I sneak in a head sniff. Then she wriggles free and leaves my lap for another big adventure.
My little girl is big in so many ways. She is growing. Up.
Showing posts with label Michelle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michelle. Show all posts
Bedtime: 11.26.2013
Ah, bedtime. The first word that comes to mind is: No.
No sleeping.
No talking.
No tossing and turning.
No alone time.
No. No. No.
I have been so focused on changing my way of thinking. Changing how I approach life and being a little easier on myself and my loved ones.
Then, bedtime happens.
Most nights it is a shit show of tears and fights and stories and bribes. It nearly always ends with both my husband and I exhausted and thinking that there has to be a better way. We have tried just about everything we are comfortable with and yet still, the battle of the bedtime rages on.
By the time little eyes start to droop my patience has been worn thin. The tires on my parenting vessel are tread-less, I can't stop my emotions from slamming into my daughter's. The clash is epic and no one wins. By the time she settles down, I have gone from a content, happy mom, to an angry, frustrated mom. She eventually drifts off and I feel awful. What is it about bedtime that brings out the angry green guy who lives deep inside?
This will be my next self-improvement project. I can feel a shift happening in more recent weeks. The nights that end peacefully are starting to outweigh the horrendous ones. My anxiety at 7:30 is considerably less than it was two months ago. I have to hold onto the faith that this too shall pass.
Before I gave birth to my daughter I had visions of nighttime bliss. Stories followed by sweet snuggles as she would drift off to sleep. Evenings spent recapping my day with my husband while the kiddo would sleep soundly in her bed.
Flash forward to over three years later. She is passed out in our bed, taking up more space with her 30 pound body than my husband and I combined. This slumber is only after the aforementioned struggle. Sure, books and snuggles are part of the routine but so are arguments and lost tempers, guilt and an undeniable feeling of failure.
It is the latter that I struggle with the most. I have to let go of the unrealistic fantasy and ease off the pressure I put on myself and my child. Nothing in parenting is as you planned but that doesn't make it any less perfect. Tonight, during the bedtime boycott, I will try to focus on the good. I will ease up on the ideals and in turn, ease up on myself.
No sleeping.
No talking.
No tossing and turning.
No alone time.
No. No. No.
I have been so focused on changing my way of thinking. Changing how I approach life and being a little easier on myself and my loved ones.
Then, bedtime happens.
Most nights it is a shit show of tears and fights and stories and bribes. It nearly always ends with both my husband and I exhausted and thinking that there has to be a better way. We have tried just about everything we are comfortable with and yet still, the battle of the bedtime rages on.
By the time little eyes start to droop my patience has been worn thin. The tires on my parenting vessel are tread-less, I can't stop my emotions from slamming into my daughter's. The clash is epic and no one wins. By the time she settles down, I have gone from a content, happy mom, to an angry, frustrated mom. She eventually drifts off and I feel awful. What is it about bedtime that brings out the angry green guy who lives deep inside?
This will be my next self-improvement project. I can feel a shift happening in more recent weeks. The nights that end peacefully are starting to outweigh the horrendous ones. My anxiety at 7:30 is considerably less than it was two months ago. I have to hold onto the faith that this too shall pass.
Before I gave birth to my daughter I had visions of nighttime bliss. Stories followed by sweet snuggles as she would drift off to sleep. Evenings spent recapping my day with my husband while the kiddo would sleep soundly in her bed.
Flash forward to over three years later. She is passed out in our bed, taking up more space with her 30 pound body than my husband and I combined. This slumber is only after the aforementioned struggle. Sure, books and snuggles are part of the routine but so are arguments and lost tempers, guilt and an undeniable feeling of failure.
It is the latter that I struggle with the most. I have to let go of the unrealistic fantasy and ease off the pressure I put on myself and my child. Nothing in parenting is as you planned but that doesn't make it any less perfect. Tonight, during the bedtime boycott, I will try to focus on the good. I will ease up on the ideals and in turn, ease up on myself.
Gather: 11.19.2013
Quite house, still, calm
They will arrive one by one
They will fill these four walls
With laughter
And conversation
With celebration
And love
We gather
We eat
We smile
Dinner after dinner
Meal after meal
Tummies full
Hearts swell
Birthdays, holidays, every days
We gather
To laugh
To celebrate
To love
They will arrive one by one
They will fill these four walls
With laughter
And conversation
With celebration
And love
We gather
We eat
We smile
Dinner after dinner
Meal after meal
Tummies full
Hearts swell
Birthdays, holidays, every days
We gather
To laugh
To celebrate
To love
Beginnings: 11.12.2013
Sometimes, the beginning of something great comes disguised as an end. Sometimes, something painful gives you the motivation you need to try harder.
I started the current incarnation of my blog a year ago. Exactly one year ago today, it went live at it's current URL. It was a fun thing for me to do to document my life parenting a rambunctious 2 year old. It gave me an outlet for my thoughts, a safe place for my words to live.
I never really had much confidence in what I wrote, I just enjoyed the process. Seeing the words on the screen or page felt cathartic. Sharing on such a public forum was nerve wracking. What would people think? Would they like what I had to say, would they like me?
Over time a small group of followers assembled. Mostly family, there was also a friend or two who would regularly read my work. They liked it. They liked me. My confidence grew with every word of encouragement.
Then, I was offered a column in our local paper. I would get paid to write. I was beyond excited but even more nervous. I still felt new. I felt like I had no idea what I was doing. I decided to set aside my fears and go for it. At worse, it wouldn't work out and I would resign. At best, I would be a paid writer.
Excited and needing to share some nervous thoughts I shared the news with my friends and family. Everyone was supportive and encouraging. Everyone but the one person I wanted to be, a fellow writer and friend that I looked up to.
The lack of support led to the demise of our friendship. I immediately blamed myself and assumed my writing was no good. That I had made a terrible decision and shouldn't have taken the position. I doubted every word. If someone I thought to be a great writer couldn't support me, how was the general public supposed to?
My first deadline came and I went for it. I had committed to this adventure and didn't want to disappoint those who were supporting me. Meanwhile, my blog posts dwindled. My personal writing came to a halt. I allowed this blame and self doubt to derail me. I lost my footing and took some time to figure things out.
What I didn't know was that this dark time, this struggle, was the beginning of something. Slowly the support grew. Strangers stopped me in the grocery store to tell me how much they loved my column. I started to post on my blog again. My readership doubled the first month I was back. The number of people following my blog on social media tripled in a month. My confidence grew.
Something shifted. I no longer was writing to try to fit in with someone I looked up to. I was writing for me again. I wasn't trying to impress anyone, I was sitting down and challenging myself to be the best writer I could be. I had gone back to where I started. I was doing this because I loved it.
I have produced some of the best work of my life in the past few months. It feels amazing to say that. It feels incredible to have confidence in what I do. In what I love. I have made some of the best friends I could ever ask for and I have connected with some of the most sincere and incredible people. All because of a new beginning. All because of a beginning disguised as an end.
I started the current incarnation of my blog a year ago. Exactly one year ago today, it went live at it's current URL. It was a fun thing for me to do to document my life parenting a rambunctious 2 year old. It gave me an outlet for my thoughts, a safe place for my words to live.
I never really had much confidence in what I wrote, I just enjoyed the process. Seeing the words on the screen or page felt cathartic. Sharing on such a public forum was nerve wracking. What would people think? Would they like what I had to say, would they like me?
Over time a small group of followers assembled. Mostly family, there was also a friend or two who would regularly read my work. They liked it. They liked me. My confidence grew with every word of encouragement.
Then, I was offered a column in our local paper. I would get paid to write. I was beyond excited but even more nervous. I still felt new. I felt like I had no idea what I was doing. I decided to set aside my fears and go for it. At worse, it wouldn't work out and I would resign. At best, I would be a paid writer.
Excited and needing to share some nervous thoughts I shared the news with my friends and family. Everyone was supportive and encouraging. Everyone but the one person I wanted to be, a fellow writer and friend that I looked up to.
The lack of support led to the demise of our friendship. I immediately blamed myself and assumed my writing was no good. That I had made a terrible decision and shouldn't have taken the position. I doubted every word. If someone I thought to be a great writer couldn't support me, how was the general public supposed to?
My first deadline came and I went for it. I had committed to this adventure and didn't want to disappoint those who were supporting me. Meanwhile, my blog posts dwindled. My personal writing came to a halt. I allowed this blame and self doubt to derail me. I lost my footing and took some time to figure things out.
What I didn't know was that this dark time, this struggle, was the beginning of something. Slowly the support grew. Strangers stopped me in the grocery store to tell me how much they loved my column. I started to post on my blog again. My readership doubled the first month I was back. The number of people following my blog on social media tripled in a month. My confidence grew.
Something shifted. I no longer was writing to try to fit in with someone I looked up to. I was writing for me again. I wasn't trying to impress anyone, I was sitting down and challenging myself to be the best writer I could be. I had gone back to where I started. I was doing this because I loved it.
I have produced some of the best work of my life in the past few months. It feels amazing to say that. It feels incredible to have confidence in what I do. In what I love. I have made some of the best friends I could ever ask for and I have connected with some of the most sincere and incredible people. All because of a new beginning. All because of a beginning disguised as an end.
Darkness: 10.29.2013
I clicked off the lamp and snuggled in. Her tiny arms reached out for me as she looked up at the ceiling.
"Look, mommy, the moon is only half. Looks like a boat."
We were gazing at her nightlight that splayed the night sky across the bedroom ceiling. The green light reflected in her blue eyes.
"Yes, it does look like a boat! Or a smile. You are super smart."
I could feel her smile while she snuggled in closer. I reached over and stroked her small face. She is so big yet still so little. How did the time go so fast. She reached up and touched my face.
"I doing the same thing to you, mommy. I love you."
I held her closer and soaked in her scent. Toothpaste, soap, shampoo, and a healthy dose of little kid. It was intoxicating. What is it about the smell of your child's head? Would she ever outgrow that smell, like she had so many other things.
She sighed and rolled over. In the darkness I could see her eyes were heavy, she struggled to keep them open. I smiled at her determination to stay away until daddy could come in and take over, appreciating our shared stubbornness.
It was this stubbornness, in part, that led to our delayed weening. I refused to push her, she refused to stop. We were both ok with it. She would go a few days without asking for milk, I would never offer nor refuse. She weened herself, gradually. Just like learning language, I cannot pinpoint the exact moment she was verbal. I don't even know if she is completely weened. I may not know for months.
Tonight, in this darkness, she is finding comfort in my presence. In my arms and my voice instead of at the breast. She has outgrown another part of her babyhood. I lean in and breath her in again.
"I love you mommy."
"I love you, peanut. Forever."
"Look, mommy, the moon is only half. Looks like a boat."
We were gazing at her nightlight that splayed the night sky across the bedroom ceiling. The green light reflected in her blue eyes.
"Yes, it does look like a boat! Or a smile. You are super smart."
I could feel her smile while she snuggled in closer. I reached over and stroked her small face. She is so big yet still so little. How did the time go so fast. She reached up and touched my face.
"I doing the same thing to you, mommy. I love you."
I held her closer and soaked in her scent. Toothpaste, soap, shampoo, and a healthy dose of little kid. It was intoxicating. What is it about the smell of your child's head? Would she ever outgrow that smell, like she had so many other things.
She sighed and rolled over. In the darkness I could see her eyes were heavy, she struggled to keep them open. I smiled at her determination to stay away until daddy could come in and take over, appreciating our shared stubbornness.
It was this stubbornness, in part, that led to our delayed weening. I refused to push her, she refused to stop. We were both ok with it. She would go a few days without asking for milk, I would never offer nor refuse. She weened herself, gradually. Just like learning language, I cannot pinpoint the exact moment she was verbal. I don't even know if she is completely weened. I may not know for months.
Tonight, in this darkness, she is finding comfort in my presence. In my arms and my voice instead of at the breast. She has outgrown another part of her babyhood. I lean in and breath her in again.
"I love you mommy."
"I love you, peanut. Forever."
Two: 10.22.2013
One, two.....
I focused on my breathing. Slowly in, slowly out. If I could control that, hopefully my mind would follow.
Three, four....
Counting sometimes calmed me. The rhythmic sound of the numbers. Up to ten and back to one. Divert my attention away from my racing pulse.
Five, six....
I wouldn't always feel this way. It would pass, leaving my body as quickly as it began. This is temporary, this is harmless.
Seven, eight....
Another wave hit me. Washing over me and making it hard to take a breath.
Nine, ten....
Breathe. I should breathe. In slowly, hold, release. If I could control that hopefully my heart would follow.
Ten, nine....
I didn't know how much more I could take. Fear was starting to take a stronger hold than I could fight off.
Eight, seven....
I closed my eyes and silently begged. I begged for strength, serenity. I begged for this to pass, to feel normal again.
Six, five....
How much longer could my body sustain this state? I was exhausted and shaky.
Four, three....
I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. I diverted my attention away from my head and into my feet. Slowly feeling every ounce of my body starting to relax.
Two, one....
I focused on my breathing. Slowly in, slowly out. If I could control that, hopefully my mind would follow.
I focused on my breathing. Slowly in, slowly out. If I could control that, hopefully my mind would follow.
Three, four....
Counting sometimes calmed me. The rhythmic sound of the numbers. Up to ten and back to one. Divert my attention away from my racing pulse.
Five, six....
I wouldn't always feel this way. It would pass, leaving my body as quickly as it began. This is temporary, this is harmless.
Seven, eight....
Another wave hit me. Washing over me and making it hard to take a breath.
Nine, ten....
Breathe. I should breathe. In slowly, hold, release. If I could control that hopefully my heart would follow.
Ten, nine....
I didn't know how much more I could take. Fear was starting to take a stronger hold than I could fight off.
Eight, seven....
I closed my eyes and silently begged. I begged for strength, serenity. I begged for this to pass, to feel normal again.
Six, five....
How much longer could my body sustain this state? I was exhausted and shaky.
Four, three....
I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. I diverted my attention away from my head and into my feet. Slowly feeling every ounce of my body starting to relax.
Two, one....
I focused on my breathing. Slowly in, slowly out. If I could control that, hopefully my mind would follow.
Magic 10.15.2013
There are things I can’t control
Things that just happen
Things I have to
Learn to live with
Or things that just consume
Me
Things beyond the scope of my ability
To change
Or are there?
Am I actually
In control
Allowing these things
To consume
Me
Choosing to learn to live with them
Instead of stopping them before they start
Things that well up inside
Direct results of festering feelings
Allowing things to rise to a toxic level
Slowly start to seep out
Into everyday life
I will no longer allow
Such things to affect
Me
I will no longer allow
Such people to affect
Us
I will no longer allow
Their actions to create
Feelings inside
Me
That fester and rise
To a toxic level
A realization
That if I do not let it matter
If I do not let these things
Become things
I will not have to learn to live with them
This thinking
This thinking
This
Revelation
Is magic.
Fences: 10.08.2013
It is hard to let your guard down. To allow yourself to truly have faith in another human being. It is that moment, when you choose to let go, when it feels like your stomach might drop out, it is in that moment when you learn the most about yourself.
I rarely let my guard down. I have built fences so high around myself that I make Fort Knox look like a public garden. This is the result of years of trusting the wrong people and falling for well orchestrated lies. Each time I was left standing in the dust, alone, I would grab another panel and build my fence a little higher.
It is hard to allow someone behind that fence. What if you are mistaken once again? What if you let them in only to discover it wasn't meant to be. Even after they have walked away, a part of them is forever stuck behind that well crafted fence.
I rarely let anyone in. Instead I walk out from behind it. I keep most of myself inside and only allow small pieces to venture into the open. Unprotected. Years of overly optimistic views of people has left me peeking from behind my fortress.
But those I do let in, those who stay, those who allow me to be myself and love me because of who I am not despite it, they are amazing. They are the people who gently take a section of fence down. They remove the barrier and allow air in. They let the sun shine in, illuminating the love in my life.
It is hard to allow people in. To let your guard down. It is easier to built fences and live in your fortress. But the payoff when it all goes right, when the right person is let in, it is worth all the splinters.
I rarely let my guard down. I have built fences so high around myself that I make Fort Knox look like a public garden. This is the result of years of trusting the wrong people and falling for well orchestrated lies. Each time I was left standing in the dust, alone, I would grab another panel and build my fence a little higher.
It is hard to allow someone behind that fence. What if you are mistaken once again? What if you let them in only to discover it wasn't meant to be. Even after they have walked away, a part of them is forever stuck behind that well crafted fence.
I rarely let anyone in. Instead I walk out from behind it. I keep most of myself inside and only allow small pieces to venture into the open. Unprotected. Years of overly optimistic views of people has left me peeking from behind my fortress.
But those I do let in, those who stay, those who allow me to be myself and love me because of who I am not despite it, they are amazing. They are the people who gently take a section of fence down. They remove the barrier and allow air in. They let the sun shine in, illuminating the love in my life.
It is hard to allow people in. To let your guard down. It is easier to built fences and live in your fortress. But the payoff when it all goes right, when the right person is let in, it is worth all the splinters.
Heart: 10.01.2013
Following your heart is the hardest damn thing you can do. When it goes wrong it goes life shattering wrong. But, when it goes right? Magic.
It was nearly 12 years ago that I last allowed my heart to be broken. We had been friends and I foolishly believed that could translate into a functional and successful long distance relationship. I may have been the only one surprised when it all fell apart.
I promptly picked myself up and pieced my heart back together. I allowed the time it needed to heal properly, without the risk of permanent scarring. I stood on my own two feet and decided to fall for myself. If I couldn’t love me, why the hell would anyone else?
Before I knew it I was in love with the man who would become my husband. I allowed my heart to guide me. I was confident it wouldn’t be wrong. I had worked too hard to love myself to doubt anything.
It was the best decision of my life. Next week, we will celebrate seven years of marriage. 11 and a half years of love. I can honestly say, loving my husband has been the easiest thing I have ever done. It has also been the most fulfilling thing.
That easy love has blossomed into a family. Our daughter. Our love, my faith in my heart, personified. Every time I hear her laugh I am reminded of all the hard work that went into myself. Of all the hours I spent alone, forcing myself to appreciate who I am.
I still struggle sometimes. But when I falter, when I doubt, I look around at the life we created. The life my heart built.
It was nearly 12 years ago that I last allowed my heart to be broken. We had been friends and I foolishly believed that could translate into a functional and successful long distance relationship. I may have been the only one surprised when it all fell apart.
I promptly picked myself up and pieced my heart back together. I allowed the time it needed to heal properly, without the risk of permanent scarring. I stood on my own two feet and decided to fall for myself. If I couldn’t love me, why the hell would anyone else?
Before I knew it I was in love with the man who would become my husband. I allowed my heart to guide me. I was confident it wouldn’t be wrong. I had worked too hard to love myself to doubt anything.
It was the best decision of my life. Next week, we will celebrate seven years of marriage. 11 and a half years of love. I can honestly say, loving my husband has been the easiest thing I have ever done. It has also been the most fulfilling thing.
That easy love has blossomed into a family. Our daughter. Our love, my faith in my heart, personified. Every time I hear her laugh I am reminded of all the hard work that went into myself. Of all the hours I spent alone, forcing myself to appreciate who I am.
I still struggle sometimes. But when I falter, when I doubt, I look around at the life we created. The life my heart built.
 |
| ©Lucinda Lovering |
Harvest: 09.24.2013
Fall is my favorite time of year. Gone are the oppressive days of summer. My lungs can finally breath freely without feeling like I am under some immense weight. The end of summer is like the wakening from a feverish, fitful sleep.
Every year I take in all this season has to teach me. This year, I feel I need the lesson more so.
I watch as the leaves turn celebratory colors. Oranges and reds announce the end of time on their tree. Soon they will let go and silently dance their way to the foot of their beloved home. They will lie there, together, decomposing. The leaves are not sad to go and the tree is not sad to let go. The colors they show in celebration are of a new beginning. Without their demise the tree would not have the nutrients it needs to grow new leaves come spring. There is no end. No beginning. It is a cycle with each precious piece dependent on the other.
A leaf falls to my lap. I look at how beautiful it is and think of all the other leaves that went into this beauty. How many does it take to supply the tree with enough food? Ultimately, the number doesn't matter. It takes all of them. However many that might be.
I realize that I found the lesson I needed. I need to let go. Let go of fear and of anger. I need to have faith that I am part of something bigger. There is no end, no beginning, just a continuation of what has always been and what will always be.
Gone are the oppressive days of summer. My lungs can finally breathe freely. I have awoken to the bountiful harvest of fall and feel like a better me.
Every year I take in all this season has to teach me. This year, I feel I need the lesson more so.
I watch as the leaves turn celebratory colors. Oranges and reds announce the end of time on their tree. Soon they will let go and silently dance their way to the foot of their beloved home. They will lie there, together, decomposing. The leaves are not sad to go and the tree is not sad to let go. The colors they show in celebration are of a new beginning. Without their demise the tree would not have the nutrients it needs to grow new leaves come spring. There is no end. No beginning. It is a cycle with each precious piece dependent on the other.
A leaf falls to my lap. I look at how beautiful it is and think of all the other leaves that went into this beauty. How many does it take to supply the tree with enough food? Ultimately, the number doesn't matter. It takes all of them. However many that might be.
I realize that I found the lesson I needed. I need to let go. Let go of fear and of anger. I need to have faith that I am part of something bigger. There is no end, no beginning, just a continuation of what has always been and what will always be.
Gone are the oppressive days of summer. My lungs can finally breathe freely. I have awoken to the bountiful harvest of fall and feel like a better me.
Letting Go: 09.17.2013
The end of the summer is on the horizon.The weather here has already made it's shift from humid to crisp. There is a scent in the air that makes every ounce of my being feel hopeful and renewed.
I am happy to watch the mercury fall and the summer slip away. It was one of the hardest of my life. There was an enormous amount of change that I didn't cope with very well. I didn't adapt the way I would have liked. I didn't go with the ebbs and the flows. I fought. I hung on. I slipped away from who I am and who I want to be.
Good bye summer. I will happily let you go.
I will let go of my expectations. I will offer a hand to those I isolated up there and help them down. It is unfair to leave them there with my unrealistic expectations of perfection. As I help them down I will allow myself to come down as well. I will leave perfection for myths and fairy tales. I will embrace my reality with it's many flaws. I will find perfection in all that is imperfect.
I will let go of my emotions. Emotions that I keep bound and caged, away from the eyes of others. I will allow myself to feel exactly how I feel without apology or embarrassment. I will be gentle on myself and no longer beat myself up for being human.
I will let go of grudges and hurt feelings. I will allow myself to feel them but I will no longer dwell on the things I cannot change. I will move forward and only look back with a smile.
I will let go of fear. Fear of rejection, fear of ridicule, fear of being afraid. It ruled my life this fear. It is time to let go. Just let it go.
As the cool breeze falls across my face I let it all go. I let go of past mistakes, bad decisions, hurt feelings. I let go of it all. I let it go to wherever the thick humid summer air is going. I don't apologize. I don't regret.
I just let it go.
I am happy to watch the mercury fall and the summer slip away. It was one of the hardest of my life. There was an enormous amount of change that I didn't cope with very well. I didn't adapt the way I would have liked. I didn't go with the ebbs and the flows. I fought. I hung on. I slipped away from who I am and who I want to be.
Good bye summer. I will happily let you go.
I will let go of my expectations. I will offer a hand to those I isolated up there and help them down. It is unfair to leave them there with my unrealistic expectations of perfection. As I help them down I will allow myself to come down as well. I will leave perfection for myths and fairy tales. I will embrace my reality with it's many flaws. I will find perfection in all that is imperfect.
I will let go of my emotions. Emotions that I keep bound and caged, away from the eyes of others. I will allow myself to feel exactly how I feel without apology or embarrassment. I will be gentle on myself and no longer beat myself up for being human.
I will let go of grudges and hurt feelings. I will allow myself to feel them but I will no longer dwell on the things I cannot change. I will move forward and only look back with a smile.
I will let go of fear. Fear of rejection, fear of ridicule, fear of being afraid. It ruled my life this fear. It is time to let go. Just let it go.
As the cool breeze falls across my face I let it all go. I let go of past mistakes, bad decisions, hurt feelings. I let go of it all. I let it go to wherever the thick humid summer air is going. I don't apologize. I don't regret.
I just let it go.
Holding: 09.10.2013
I had a revelation.
It wasn't earth shattering. It didn't blow my mind. It was a quiet, simple revelation. One that I needed and will continue to hold on to.
I spend a lot of time planning, day dreaming, and otherwise thinking about tomorrow. I was so swept up in this notion of being prepared for what the next day will bring that I realized I had missed today.
I had missed the thousands of tiny moments and details that made today amazing. I was blinded by the glowing promise of tomorrow, next month, next year. Meanwhile, today, this moment, slowly went away, unnoticed, under appreciated.
Yesterday I did the same thing. I planned and scheduled. I prepared and I budgeted. I had hopes for the new day.
Today was the new day. The day I focused so much time on.
Instead of relishing it's arrival and enjoying every minute I had so painstakingly planned for, I started the prepping and planning all over again.
For tomorrow. Which will never come. Instead it'll be just like today. Unless I break the cycle. Let go. Focus. Enjoy the moments that make today so good.
I will focus on the present. On the details all around me. I will appreciate all the day brings so that tomorrow can be appreciated, too.
I will hold on to today.
It wasn't earth shattering. It didn't blow my mind. It was a quiet, simple revelation. One that I needed and will continue to hold on to.
I spend a lot of time planning, day dreaming, and otherwise thinking about tomorrow. I was so swept up in this notion of being prepared for what the next day will bring that I realized I had missed today.
I had missed the thousands of tiny moments and details that made today amazing. I was blinded by the glowing promise of tomorrow, next month, next year. Meanwhile, today, this moment, slowly went away, unnoticed, under appreciated.
Yesterday I did the same thing. I planned and scheduled. I prepared and I budgeted. I had hopes for the new day.
Today was the new day. The day I focused so much time on.
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For tomorrow. Which will never come. Instead it'll be just like today. Unless I break the cycle. Let go. Focus. Enjoy the moments that make today so good.
I will focus on the present. On the details all around me. I will appreciate all the day brings so that tomorrow can be appreciated, too.
I will hold on to today.
Evenings: 09.03.2013
The sun sets behind our house. Golden light filters through, shadows darken. The breeze shifts from warm to cool. It is a comforting part of the routine, the pattern, the rhythm of our days.
Giggles rise from the sandbox and waft into the open kitchen window. A desperate plea for just two more minutes of play. She knows bath time will be soon and that means bed will follow. She knows the routines, the patterns, the rhythm of our days.
The dogs pace, anxious for their walk. Dinner has been served and devoured, light is fading quickly. They know that the running bath water and sound of clean up means their adventure time draws near. They know the routines, the patterns, the rhythm of our days.
The table gets cleared, dishes scraped. Laundry is gathered and tossed into the machine. We know the silence of sleep will come soon and take advantage of this last hour of noise. We know the routines, the patterns, the rhythm of our days.
She falls asleep. The dogs find their places to curl up. The dreaming begins. We sit together, enjoying our time with the quiet. My head on his chest, sharing the stories of our day.
I love our routines.
I love the patterns.
I love the rhythm of our days.
**Check out more photos that compliment this piece on our sister site: Luminous Traces**
Giggles rise from the sandbox and waft into the open kitchen window. A desperate plea for just two more minutes of play. She knows bath time will be soon and that means bed will follow. She knows the routines, the patterns, the rhythm of our days.
The dogs pace, anxious for their walk. Dinner has been served and devoured, light is fading quickly. They know that the running bath water and sound of clean up means their adventure time draws near. They know the routines, the patterns, the rhythm of our days.
The table gets cleared, dishes scraped. Laundry is gathered and tossed into the machine. We know the silence of sleep will come soon and take advantage of this last hour of noise. We know the routines, the patterns, the rhythm of our days.
She falls asleep. The dogs find their places to curl up. The dreaming begins. We sit together, enjoying our time with the quiet. My head on his chest, sharing the stories of our day.
I love our routines.
I love the patterns.
I love the rhythm of our days.
**Check out more photos that compliment this piece on our sister site: Luminous Traces**
Quench: 08.20.2013
Her tiny hand reached up and grabbed a blueberry that looked on the verge of bursting. She immediately popped it into her mouth.
"It so yummy mommy!!!"
She had just turned three years old. She chose blueberry picking to celebrate. It was a beautiful August day, slightly cloudy, with just enough cover from the glaring summer sun. She chattered and giggled while winding through the rows of engorged bushes. Her tiny fingers flitting from blueberry to blueberry. Half of the harvest found it's way into her bucket while the other half found their way into her tummy. He purple stained teeth gleamed every time she grinned at me.
I couldn't believe she was three. It happened so quickly. I had been warned it would but this, this happened in warp speed. It feels like it was just recently that she depended on my for her sole source of nutrition. And now, today, she was feeding me her freshly picked berries.
"Here, mommy! They dee-licious!"
She popped another ripe berry into my mouth and went back to hunting down the bluest of the blueberries. I fought back tears. So bittersweet, watching her grow. Her baby years are over, her childhood ahead of us. She is so amazing.
We decided we had gathered enough for the day and headed back to the car, picking "just one more" as we walked. I lifted my face to the sun, silently giving thanks for this day, for all the days I have been given. Feeling gratitude for these moments. The moments that quench my soul.
"It so yummy mommy!!!"
She had just turned three years old. She chose blueberry picking to celebrate. It was a beautiful August day, slightly cloudy, with just enough cover from the glaring summer sun. She chattered and giggled while winding through the rows of engorged bushes. Her tiny fingers flitting from blueberry to blueberry. Half of the harvest found it's way into her bucket while the other half found their way into her tummy. He purple stained teeth gleamed every time she grinned at me.I couldn't believe she was three. It happened so quickly. I had been warned it would but this, this happened in warp speed. It feels like it was just recently that she depended on my for her sole source of nutrition. And now, today, she was feeding me her freshly picked berries.
"Here, mommy! They dee-licious!"
She popped another ripe berry into my mouth and went back to hunting down the bluest of the blueberries. I fought back tears. So bittersweet, watching her grow. Her baby years are over, her childhood ahead of us. She is so amazing.
We decided we had gathered enough for the day and headed back to the car, picking "just one more" as we walked. I lifted my face to the sun, silently giving thanks for this day, for all the days I have been given. Feeling gratitude for these moments. The moments that quench my soul.
Dog Days: 08.06.2013
Bella
I watched as the car pulled up the dirt driveway. Three of them got out. I remembered them from before, they had come over to play a week earlier. This time they didn’t have him with them.
They got out and the woman crouched down near me. She was smiling and seemed happy to see me but I sensed a little sadness when she looked at my family. I gave her a quick kiss to reassure her that I would be ok.
I took one last roam around the yard. I had no idea what their yard would be like but just knew it would be fine. I said my goodbyes to the chickens. I would miss them a little. Then I headed over to my family. I had been with them for a year and a half. I had watched the two children grow. I was there when the woman found out that they would have a third. They were fantastic. I would miss them but I knew they were making the best decisions for their family and in turn, for me.
After some rubs and snuggles I jumped into the car. I was so excited for a new adventure. I couldn’t wait to see my friend and my new home. We pulled up to the house, it was smaller than I was used to but seemed welcoming. My friend, Quincy, came bounding out the door. We were very happy to see one another. We played and ran.
After a walk with my new mom-person she brought me inside. I was happy to see my bed waiting for me with my toy on top. Only minutes had passed but I already was feeling like this was home. I spent the evening snuggling the human child and winning over the cat. Darkness fell and I got sleepy.
My new mom-person let me outside one last time then went into the bedroom to put the little one to bed. Somewhere outside someone set off fireworks. It made me nervous. Was this normal? Did my new family need me to protect them? Who would protect me? Quincy was sound asleep. He didn’t seem worried. Maybe I shouldn’t either. I tried to lay down but they noise kept going.
Right before I thought I couldn’t take anymore my new mom-person called for me. I happily went to her in her room. Somehow she knew I was a little scared. She invited me onto the bed where she and the little one were snuggled up. I curled up and immediately drifted off.
I knew then that I was home.
Quincy
I pretended to sleep while my family gathered the things they needed for the day. They were headed out and I was staying home. I tried to act like I didn’t mind. I refrained from crying at the door or looking out the window. I would lay on my bed and close my eyes. My mom-person would always rub my head and turn on the radio but after they left, I always got lonely. This day was no exception.
I heard them close the doors and drive away. Even the cat had gone out. I paced the hallway and sniffed the counters. It was boring being home alone. I could hear the two dogs across the street playing outside. I wish I had a playmate.
I had drifted off when I heard their car pull in. I could hear them getting out. One. Two. Three people. Wait, what was that? A fourth? The fourth one didn’t sound human. My senses are not quite as good as they had been when I was younger but I was pretty sure the fourth sound was a dog! I let out a whoop as my dad-person walked in the door.
The second I left the house I recognized her. We had played a week earlier. She was wonderful. Bella, they called her. We played and ran and got acquainted. This was so exciting. I really hoped she was here to stay.
My mom-person took her for a walk and I waited inside with my dad-person and the little one. I hoped Bella would like it here. I hoped she would be nice to my family, especially the little one. I adore her. I was there when my mom-person found out she was pregnant. I stayed by her side when she wasn’t able to leave the house. While she worried about her unborn baby, I would snuggle close to her and listen to their heartbeats. One in my mom-person’s chest and one, very faint one, in her belly.
I was there when they brought her home. She was so tiny. I got nervous when anyone would go near her. I watched her grow into a super fun toddler. We played and rolled on the floor. She is nearly three now. I love her so much. I really hope Bella loves her, too.
I could hear all 6 feet walking up the driveway. I met Bella and my mom-person at the door. I couldn’t control my excitement. I had a friend!! She came in and we played some more. She even was able to win over the cat. I was impressed. We eventually settled down and she layed on her bed. I couldn’t take my eyes off from her.
I woke up a few hours later and she was gone. I let out a little bark but it was drowned out by the annoying booms of fireworks. I got up and looked for her. Halfway down the hallway I saw my family’s bedroom door was slightly open. I poked my head in, not wanting to wake anyone. There she was. All curled up at my mom-person’s feet. I walked quietly up to the bed. Mom-person gave me a quick scratch behind the ears and invited me up. I hopped up being careful not to wake the sleeping little one or my friend. I gave them both a quick sniff and curled up, drifting off immediately.
I had a friend.
I was home.
Take Cover: 07.23.2013
My husband has been out of town for four weeks. Just me and our nearly three year old daughter taking care of each other. This was the first time we had spent this much time apart. "It'll be good for you," they said.
They were wrong. What is good for me, good for us, good for her, good for him is to be together. To see the smiles we create, to feel the laughter that fills our home, to be surrounded by the love we share. In a detached world, what is good for us is to be together.
He comes home tonight. Late tonight.
It is amazing what you can learn when the other half of your heart is 1700 miles away. It is amazing how hard it really is. It is amazing how much space in your heart, mind, life, one soul can take up. It is amazing how lonely life can seem without them near you.
Some days were great. Wonderful adventures for me and my little. So much to see. So much to do. So much to take in. Some days, it took the force of a determined, morning loving, happy little girl to get me out from under the covers. To get me to face the day in all of it's summer glory.
But tonight, soon, our family will be back together. My life will start feeling not so turbulent, my mind will mellow. Our bond, strengthened by the challenge, our sadness weakened by his return. Our lives forever changed but still the same. He will be home.
Those covers won't call my name quite so loudly come sunrise.
Mornings: 07.16.2013
I
was never a morning person. Then, she came into my world one summer
morning. I had no choice but to rise early. To take in everything the
earliest hours had to offer.
Like
an apology for the previous day’s onslaught of heat and humidity,
summer mornings bring a calm, cool, stillness. A deep breath before a
busy day.
The
forecast called for a scorching humid day ahead. She wanted to go to
the farm. She wanted to play. To feel the grass and the sunshine. We
woke early, and sent off on our journey before the sun could control the
day.
Dew
still clung to the ground. Shadows were long, the light crisp. We could
feel the heat fighting for control over the residual night air. We
found refuge in the still cool shade. Next to the even cooler brook.
She danced, she played. She chased bubbles. She laughed.
I sat, I watched. I blew bubbles. I laughed.
I was never a morning person. Then, she came into my world.
Communing: 07.09.2013
"I got it Mommy, I got it!!"
A small hand opens to show me the treasure she was after. A perfect, plump, blueberry. The first of the season.
"Eat it!" I say.
She doesn't hesitate. Juice dribbles down her chin. A smile erupts across her face.
"It so good!" She squeals.
"They have always been your favorite." I tell her.
She turns and goes back to her work of picking the biggest and juiciest off the heavy laden bushes.
I wasn't sure I could do it. Function. Without her daddy. He is gone for a month in an epic and life changing journey.
Little did I know that his journey would become my own. I am learning how strong I can be. I am learning to slow down. Breath. Be present. I am learning just how much I love my husband and how deeply I miss him when he is not beside me.
I stretch out as the humid air weighs heavily on my sweat dampened skin. The cool earth cradles me. My daughter glances over.
"Look how many I picked!! So many, Momma!!"
I smile. She is amazing. Of course I can do this. I have her. I have us. He may not be right next to me but the intense connection we share is more than emotional. Our love hasmanifested in this incredible little person.
They are my people and with them I can do anything.
Later, before bed, I ask her what her favorite part if the day was. "I pick lots of blueberries! You like picking blueberries? That your favorite part, too?"
"Yes, I love picking blueberries. But my favorite part was spending it with you."
"Thank you mommy. You my favorite part, too."
Water's Edge: 07.02.2013
Standing
at the edge of the water, I barely recognized the banks my one and a
half year old daughter was splashing around on. The shore line that held
so much meaning. The shore line that was an intrical part of my story.
Our story.
Eleven
years ago it was on those banks that we fell in love. Warm summer
nights and the sound of the falls. The beginning of our story with a
beautiful future .
Nine
years ago it was those very banks on which I sat and watched as he
photographed the falls. Snuggled in his coat on a sunny March afternoon.
It was in the mud on that shore that he asked me to become his wife. It
was to the soundtrack of that water that I said yes.
Two
years ago it was an enormous storm that ripped through. Raising those
waters to record heights. Carrying away rocks and soil, depositing sand
and silt. Trees were uprooted, houses destroyed. The shore line was
rearranged and carved out of previously dry earth.
One
year ago it was time for us to return. To check on our beloved place,
at the water’s edge. To bring our daughter to the place it all began. My
eyes hardly recognized my favorite place but my heart, it saw
everything as it was. As we were.
It
was that moment that i realized, we had changed, too. Our love had
weathered storms and sunshine, just had our beloved spot. I settled in
and started to memorize my old friend's new visage. I closed my eyes.
There was that familiar soundtrack. Now with the addition of a child’s
laughter. My child’s laughter.
I took a deep breath. Everything changes.
I
stood up and walked to the water’s edge. Tilted my head up to the sun.
Listened to my family as they splashed in water that contained our
story. A story with a beautiful future.
Some things will always be the same.
Wonder 06.25.2013
How do flowers know when to bloom?
Where to the clouds go on a sunny day?
Are the stars still twinkling in the daytime?
Her sense of awe and wonder is contagious. I could watch her figure out how things work for hours.
My questions are heavier than hers. Weighed down with years of worry.
When does wonder turn to worry?
When did my questions become so full of concern?
Will I figure out the answers on my own?
She balances me out. She worries about nothing. Her answers come as the world unfolds before her.
Where do snakes live?
Will this rock fly?
Why is rain wet?
Simplicity.
Innocence. Fascination. I could learn a lot from her. My years have
nothing on her wisdom. All they have left me with is uncertainty.
Am I strong enough?
Am I doing this right?
Is this the right path?
I
watch her figure out her questions, answering them along her journey. I
draw in a breath and release it, sending my worries out along with it. I
take in another. I fill the space with the awe and wonder that flows so
freely from her.
Breath in awe. Breath out worry.
Breath out concern. Breath in wonder.
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