Nothing Is Hidden

Just this morning, I stole 17 minutes from the day to sneak into the cafe, drink a small cup and pull out my journal.  As I nestled in, (with my coat still on...a total time saver) get set up with pen and paper, I let the thoughts roll out.  And as I was reflecting through the pen about feeding my nine month old (the gift of four feeding times a day feels nearly essential with the third child; otherwise I am not sure I would ever pick her up off the floor!  This forces us, thank God, to snuggle in and be quiet together.)  And as I was scribing this out, an image flashed into my mind and here I will try to paint it:

Francesca (5) and I are standing at the ridge of our driveway.  Also a quiet time (especially on Tuesdays when Abby, our mother's helper, is inside with the other two.)  Just us, waiting for the sound of the bus.  We live, you see, on a long and quiet road and have become quite good at distinguishing the sound of the bus from all other sounds.  And I have already kissed her goodbye and told her to have a good day (we started doing this on day one of the bus because I wasn't sure when the bus would roll up and didn't want this "goodbye" to be rushed or, worse, missed altogether.)  And, on this particular morning, I was standing with one leg in front, kind of resting back into my other leg.  A stance, you could say.  And I watched Francesca so keenly in this moment perhaps because there was nothing around us but cold quiet and a shared waiting and I saw her take her time to model my said stance.  Left leg in front and the weight shifted slightly to the back leg.  Man, did it hit me again: the simple, core realization that our children model what we do.  They model what we say.  They model who we are.  

At times this same realization has brought me to my knees in tears.  Times when I have acted or spoke in such a way that I would not want to be modeled.  Times when I have not paused between a behavior and my own reaction to this behavior.  And each one of these times, this knowledge that our actions are not only watched but undoubtedly repeated in some manifestation, has been the second arrow that has been difficult to shake.  

But this time, I saw the simple beauty in this mirroring.  I saw my daughter open and me, well, as myself.  Standing in the silence.  

A Walk in the Woods

This is my recent challenge: how do I get out of the house with my 2.5 year old and 8 month old?  It seems that in our house someone is either sleeping or eating and that can make it feel like there is room for little else (other than cleaning.)  But I know how good it is to get out of the house.  How vital.  For all three of us.  The fresh air.  The movement of the body.  The space.  The natural beauty.  So today I decided to just exit our back door.  Not pack any snacks (with the exception of a little nut pack that Lilian carried in none other than a toddler size bunny purse); no diapers or wipes; no big car that we have to get in and out of.

Lilian is used to taking this walk with Matt, but she typically rides in the backpack.  I prepared her, saying that Blair had to ride in the ergo and she finished my sentence, "because she can't walk yet?"  Yes, because she can't walk yet.  And we started out.  And oh, the air.  And the sounds.  I could feel Blair take a nice big sigh; you know the one.  And Lilian had a hop in her step and quickly found a tiny mushroom and an acorn.  I imagined what the world must look like to her; all of the tiny miracles of nature so close to her.  Besides the tiny mushroom, she found tiny berries and ferns and sticks and a cracked acorn.  I knew we probably wouldn't make it all the way to the creak, but I didn't know this would happen: "Mommy, I have a poopy."

"Ok," I replied.  "Let's head back."  And I could feel myself tighten just a bit.  I turned into slow motion survival mode and noticed how much I began rushing Lilian back home; as if something terrible was going to happen to her if she had the dirty diaper on for more than five minutes.  And in this moment of urging on, "come on Lilian" as she discovered yet anther tiny miracle, I realized how often I do this with my children; push them on to the next thing.  "Great, you are dressed!  Now put your clothes in the hamper!...or, great, we have walked in the woods, now let's get home for lunch!"  On and on.  And I know all of this is important: the routine; the responsibility that I am working on teaching, yada yada.  But I wonder if I can drop some of this more often.  Leave it at the door.  And exist, even just for a little while, in their time zone or, rather, be beyond time.  I wonder if I can walk in the woods without an agenda.

Anyway, we did get home and changed the diapers and all felt good from the glorious fresh air.

LAUGH

This morning I wrote two intentions but I only remember one of them: to laugh.

Just as I was putting Lilian down for her nap she said, "laugh Mommy."

I replied, "what?"  as if this was some outlandish request.

Holding Blair (who was attempting to lunge out of my arms and into the crib with Lilian; can't blame her there), I did what was very clearly a fake laugh.

Lilian made the request again, "no, LAUGH!"

So I conjured up a good, sincere laugh.  From the gut.  And she did in return and Blair undoubtedly broke into a smile (although I could not see her face as it was inches from Lilian's.)

And there is was; my little teacher reminding me of what I had wished for.  

Change

 

Wednesday, August 26th, 2015

Kitchen table.  6:35am. 

 

Matt's first day of school.

The bacon is made and the eggs are ready to be put on. 

He is getting ready.

 

I relax my shoulders. 

I am thinking about Francesca getting on the bus in a few days. 

 

I am thinking about how my mornings, my days, are about to change. 

How everything, really, is constantly shifting. 

Some changes are more drastic than others, like the first day of school or my oldest child getting onto the bus for the first time.  Alone.  Off into the world. 

But there is always an undercurrent of change just as powerful as the change that I end up talking about.  Perhaps if I tuned in more acutely to these subtle changes, larger change would not contain so much power - so much potential - to knock me off my feet. 

 

Changes like the quality or temperature of the air; the changing time and sound of dusk; the way the mist moves over the mountain at first light; the way a seven month old studies her hand in wonder; the subtle change of intonation of a two year old or the new ways in which a five year helps around the house. 

 

I have some memories of days lately:

Francesca watercoloring upstairs for the first time while I sift through clothes;

Blair and Francesca falling into sweet sleep on my bed with me;

Lilian prancing through the yard with a pinwheel in hand

And I can feel myself lunging backwards to a stretch of time but, in reality, these were singular moments never actually to be repeated. 

 

The best I can do is be in this day and then let it be free. 

 

*  I try to write morning pages every day (writing that is completely freeform.)  Typically these pages would not be worth sharing (although I often get thinking about a topic or an idea while writing.)  This one I thought was worth sharing as we are all experiencing change right now in our lives with school, the seasons and the many other subtle changes that occur in our lives.  This weekend I found this leaf while I walked through the woods.  The beauty bowled me over as the leaf represented the process of change itself. 

 

*  Check out morning pages at: http://juliacameronlive.com/basic-tools/morning-pages/

 



Tip of the Arrow

So this happened last night.  Bedtime was nearing (at least in my mind) and Francesca was in her zone in the sun room.  As sweet as honey, she was coloring a picture.  For me.  Anytime I came anywhere near the door to the room she exclaimed, "don't look Mommy."  Of course, there were other people mulling about in this area too (including two year old Lilian; not to give it away!)  With intermittent requests for Francesca to wrap things up, she finally emerged from the room asking Matt to help her rip the page out of the coloring book so that she could proudly present it to me.  In these two seconds, Lilian made it over to said coloring book, took up an uncovered marker and began her own diligent work.  Directly on Francesca's meticulously colored picture.

Well, perhaps you can imagine the reaction of this quality-oriented five year old!  A slow, gut wrenching cry; an expression that accompanies the feeling of being gravely disrespected and wronged; a body limp from defeat.  An all out puddle.  And, in my mind, no chance for making her feel better (oh, no matter how much I try to accept the feelings of my children, there is the instinctual desire to make them feel better in times of despair.)

I work hard these days to have one and only one focus, the "tip of my arrow" so to speak: to respond with compassion.  This sounds simple, but man is it the greatest challenge of my life.  In this instance, I needed to respond with compassion to Francesca.  But what does this look like?  I asked her if I could put my arms around her with which she vehemently declined; I sat on the couch with her and asked her if I could still see the picture with which she met with disdain; I verbalized how hard it must be to have her work disrespected.  Some progress here.  And then there is the parental drive to also teach a lesson for which I had to drop.  And then there is Lilian.  Who knows of her intention (although Francesca was convinced she did it purposefully) but we had her apologize and talked with her about respecting other people's work.

So.  I muddled through and will continue to do so with compassion as the tip of my arrow.  This is the most important work of my life and I have only just begun.

Birthday Mantras @ 40

I have to say, I was a little wound up about my 40th birthday for some weeks before.  I was trying to construct in my mind the most perfect day but couldn't seem to get there; I was overwhelmed by the expectation and more than a little tired of my mind's obsessive planning.

By some grace of God, I decided a week before the "big day" that it actually didn't matter what I did on my birthday; what really mattered was my attitude and grounding going into my birthday.  So, also thankfully, I took action.  I quick signed Francesca up for camp.  I quick hired my mother's helper to come nearly every day.  And I quick made a list of priorities with my new mantras in mind: I am active!  I am fun!  I am loving!

So each day I ran through the woods; practiced yoga by the river and meditated there too; I wrote in the cafe (and one day I even did a little shopping!)...all the while, reciting my new beloved mantras.

All of this felt terribly indulgent at the beginning of the week and I had to push through some fear about Francesca being at camp all day (despite the fact that she came home happy, excited and even a bit more limber each day!) and saying goodbye to Lilian at the door. But I continued to follow my own instructions.

Some mornings I would think of the many errands I could do during my time out - grocery store; gas; dinner prep - but I drove directly to the river and I ran.  (On a side note, I found running through the woods quite exhilarating!  I felt fast and happy and I found a new practice: smiling while running comes very naturally!)  Each day I felt more and more like myself; stronger, happier, calmer.  And I knew this was not just a gift for me, but a gift to my family and the world.

And you know what?
I had the most perfect birthday.

Here is a little poem I wrote about my day (and all that led up to it.)

Birthday Mantras and Actions

Open your heart to the love!
Listening to my own instructions.

Your heart is as wide as the lake!
Wisdom speaking.

I am active!
Running up the side of a mountain; yoga and quiet on the ledge; swimming in the lake -temperature perfection; kayaking to the cove.

I am fun!
Smiling all the way down the side of the mountain (what a wonderful practice smiling is!); laughing easily; emerging as myself - light and free.

I am loving!
Kisses and warmth and love; resisting no gift of affection.

Open so that you may receive gifts of love and goodness and recognize the interconnectedness of our lives and our hearts.  

"Mommy...are you home?"

I had just a little time with Lilian this morning.  She slept in.  And I had plans.  Big plans.  I had some help and I was going to get out to take care of myself.  I had constructed a long list of all of the things that I wanted to do.  When the little one woke up with sleep in her eyes and a sweaty brow, I already had my running shoes on and was ready to go.  I fixed her breakfast, gave her her vitamin and got her dressed in lightning speed.  She tried slowing me down with her sweet, slow questions but I had a deadline for leaving the house and I was sticking to it.  In her laid back manner, she protested only with a quiet "no" to my leaving and soon agreed that playing with Abby and Blair would do just fine for her.

And with some quick kisses and minimal directions, I was off in a flurry.  And I followed through with my own directions which felt something close to divine.  I ran through the woods.  I practiced yoga by the river.  I sat.  And stayed.  I even wrote a bit.  And I drank tea by myself.  All of these practices were short compared to previous standards, but I needed to do all of them.  I was like a car nearly on empty and I could feel myself filling up, one precious activity at a time.

And although my heart felt more at ease, I returned home with busy-ness still in my step.  I rushed to the bathroom before Abby had to leave, fixed ice water and lunch for Lilian and set up a chair to feed Blair.  Lilian ran and grabbed a book for me to read while she ate her lunch and in the midst of this new flurry, she asked, again in her sweet, slow speech, "Mommy, are you home?"

Of course, I outwardly replied yes, but I was struck by the profundity of this question.  Am I here?  How often am I "with" my kids, but really somewhere else....planning; creating lists; thinking of the many other things that I could be doing; or stuck in some pattern of worry or complaint.  So this is my resolve, at least for today, to repeatedly ask myself this question, "are you home?"

Swingin' With It

"Mommy!  You don't need to push me!"  

"What?"

She ran to the swing.  

Pure pride in her stride.  

And there she went.  

Hopped on and used her two feet on the ground to get herself going.  

In what seemed like an instant, she was swinging as high as if I had given her a hefty push and tickled her back saying, "not so high!"

I looked on with pure astonishment.  For me, this was as big as her first steps (if you can compare such a thing.)  I have been pushing her since she was six months old (and this little one has always adored the swing so that is a lot of pushes!)

I clapped and cheered as my mind raced back to grasp . . ., "it's gone!  The time of pushing Francesca is gone."  Outwardly, I exclaimed, "what am I supposed to do now?  I am out of a job!"  Francesca laughed as she does when I say this and went right on swinging with joy!

At least twice a day I yearn for Francesca's independence: do you really need me to come to the bathroom with you?;  Sit with you while you get dressed?;  You are almost 5!  I am teaching her to butter her own toast and cut with scissors.  But I was not prepared for this swinging-on-her-own business.  And that is the thing about motherhood; our frustrations are also our joys: our letting go is also our holding on.  And rarely do we have a say; more and more people will teach the girls things that I know nothing about and they will come running, exclaiming their success; their independence . . .that for which we wished.  

I held out my hand to Francesca as we walked to the car.  I breathed a sigh of gratitude as she took my hand.  I made darn sure to pause right there; feeling her hand in mine knowing full well that someday, without any warning at all, she will no longer take it.  

Ode to Grandmothers

You sweep in

with tender touch

You listen

with knowing ears

You love 

without condition

You savour

the sweetness of new life

You have done so much for me and my family as we continue to move through these tender years of early childrearing.  You have swept my floors and cooked us meals; you have folded laundry and held my girls.  But the absolute greatest gift that you have given me is your wise perspective fostered from a bit of space in your own lives.  You are able to return to a home of a newborn (because really it is their home) with a freshness and tenderness that is unmatched.  And it is you who have reminded me to pause in the sweet spots; to sing to my children and to look them in the eyes and closely. 

On this day, and everyday, I am thankful to the grandmothers in my life.  

  

Clenching the Well

Oh, dear gratitude.  I know how incredibly important you are and perhaps this is why you have eluded me.  When I have practiced you, my mind has felt mechanical and I am afraid to say disingenuous at times.

Until recently I would only really do a gratitude practice at lunch time (my one quiet meal of the day (if the stars aligned properly)).  I would go through the food on my plate and muster whatever gratitude that I could for the avocado, lettuce, chip.  When I began this practice a couple of months ago I would try to go deeper with the food and think about where it came from; the earth and the hands that touched it on its way to my plate.  But lately I have been rushing through my gratitudes like a grocery list.  And then there was that thought behind my gratitudes, "Hurry Up!"

So, knowing how important gratitude is, I began to ramp up my practice just a bit.  I started listing off gratitudes in bed right before going to sleep.  If nothing else, this was a sweet way to end the day and quickly I would be fast asleep.  Perhaps because this was the last thing that I did before drifting off I began to then spontaneously move into the practice in the middle of the night when I woke to feed Blair.  Again, sweet.

And then this happened:

At some point in my life yesterday or last night (oddly, I have no recollection of when it actually happened) my gratitude felt, well, true.  This feeling of sincerity made my whole being feel full of contentment and peace.  For whatever brief moment, I was in awe of this well of gratitude that was brimming over inside of me.

And then this next thing happened:

My mind perked up and exclaimed, "This is it!  This is the feeling that has eluded you/me over the years!  Quick!  Let's figure out how we got here and how we can hold on!"  I clenched the well.  And then it disappeared.

I can try to get it back through words, but they are nowhere nearly as expansive as the heart.  Alas, I will continue my practice of gratitude however simple or mechanical it feels.  I will also continue to open my heart and train my mind so that when I stumble on the well again I can bask there for just a bit longer.

This weekend I . . .

*  Danced with our 2 month old instead of vacuuming.  She giggled for the first time.  In my arms.

*  Sat with our 2 year old while she ate her early dinner instead of unloading the dishwasher.  We looked at each other in the eyes and reflected on the day, "good day, mommy."

*  Stopped pestering our 4 year old to come inside for a bath when I noticed that she was in a magical world that I could only observe from afar.  I thought to myself, this is her life; her magic; let her have it.

I, of course, did a lot of other things too.  I will spare you the list.  But these three bullet points above were the most important things; the things that heal me and make it all worth it.  And I am reminded once again by my dear buddhas that I must stop and be with them (or notice where they are) otherwise I will sink in a sea of laundry and dishes and miss all the magic myself.

Cosmic Joke

Every now and then, as I am putting Lilian down for a nap, we get the giggles.  There is no rhyme or reason to this but it typically spawns from her.  Something strikes her as funny . . .the way I am singing?  the zipper on my fleece?  or, more typically, she is laughing at herself.  This specific laughter is irresistible and I cannot help but join (which is a little uncharacteristic of me as I tend to have razor sharp focus at naptime.)

But not with this laughter; it is just too much joy to the square inch.  The last time it happened and I really listened it felt as though this little 23 pound bundle understood it all; it was like she got the great cosmic joke.

  

Pathways of Positivity

The middle of the night can be oh so many things.  The sweetness of picking up a babe.  The tired eyes and shock of crying.  And, at times, it can be vicious.

Last night was one of those nights for me.  My mind was triggered by something I read and bam, I was down for the count.  Reflecting back, I can't believe the negative spiral that my mind journeyed on . . . one negative thought was an open doorway to the next and soon I was swimming in a sea of past regrets, mistakes and general ill will towards none other than myself.  I could "see" this happening and at one point was saying to myself, "do we really need to go into this?  I don't feel like thinking about this right now!" But the ego mind is unrelenting and the spiral continued down, down, down . . .

Until just this smidgen of awareness allowed me to arrest myself and employ some of the most precious tools that I have been collecting over the years.  I was able to grab hold of myself as a friend would and say, "this is unacceptable; this is no way to treat a friend."  And I took out my mantra tool and began.  I searched for a mantra that was suitable for this moment and even this act brought relief.  And then the mantra came: "I am love."  I said it over and over and over and began to create a new pathway for my thoughts: a pathway of positivity and loving-kindness.

My soul began to heal from the shame spiral that I had spun out on and I drifted back into sweet sleep.  This morning I was grateful for one thing: that I have befriended myself and my commitment to fostering this friendship is renewed yet again.

The Perfect Moment

This past Sunday I sat snugly on our hand-me-down couch.  I had a new baby in my arms; I was warm; I was looking out a big window at gentle snow falling in the mountains in which we have settled; our house was full with family and we all happened to be in the same room; Francesca was snuggled in with her cousin and they were both laughing and Lilian too was laughing which was music to my ears as she had been sick for three days.

And I thought to myself, "this moment right here is perfect."  Directly after I experienced this moment and had a wave of relaxation and freedom wash over me, my heart felt grateful for the fact that I was present enough to experience this gentle storm of ordinary moments.  My goal now is to notice or rather allow myself to experience one "perfect moment" a day.

I write this, mind you, after a morning replete with difficult moments...tears, literal grasping (aka grabbing), whining, pulling, moments of not knowing what to say or do or think.  But it is precisely because of the challenges of everyday life that the recognition of ordinary perfection becomes like a life preserver in such gusty and uncertain waters.

The Body Is A Miracle

Just a note that this blog post was perfectly constructed.
At 3:30am.
In my head, that is.

Part of me is scared to write.
What is this fear?
A fear of not having the words;
a fear of not having enough time to finish (and just as I write this, a little one wakes);
a fear of the nagging that I should be doing something else.

But enough clearing.
On with my story of why the body is a miracle...here goes...

The day before I went into labor I reached out to a friend.  I wrote something like, "I am not feeling well and am scared that I wont have the strength to give birth."  She responded, as I undoubtedly knew she would, "Oh no.  You can't lose your strength.  That can't happen."  I must have known that I needed this extra kick.

So I woke the morning that I ended up giving birth with a determination to build my strength.  Fortunately, I knew what to do.  After I made breakfast, played with the girls, cleaned, took a shower, made lunch, prepared snack, drove Francesca to school and put Lilian down for a nap, I promptly went to my room.  I even delayed lunch so that I could do the necessary work of building my strength.  And this is what I did:

I went straight to my yoga mat.  I had been going there once a day for a month (I had to really lower my expectation of what "going to my yoga mat" meant because I knew the extreme importance of it.  I constructed a brief, strength based practice that concluded with a three minute movement meditation and a 3 minute mudra meditation) but on this day the power that I felt from my practice was intense.  I did more strong, deep goddesses; my arms moved with a power that came from a deep place; I held my warriors....I let my body lead the way.  I was focused in my meditation and when I was through I went directly to my bed.

I laid down and allowed my body/mind to do the work.  And this is what happened; this is the meat of it all.  My mind sent messages to my body to let go. I wish I could remember exactly what it was saying, but I suppose it is not important.  What happened was that my mind, in direct connection with my body, let go.  It let go of being pregnant.  It let go of the sweetness and the challenge and the intimacy and unconditional quality and miracle of pregnancy.  This, right here, was the work.

Four hours later, my first contraction came along.  I was struck, but not surprised, by the power and miracle that is our body.

And here we are.

In Between

Nothing like a newborn to get me writing again!  The first poem I have written in months - to Blair Love . . .

Blair Love Thornton

January 29th, 2015

In Between

You came, 
sweet angel,
in between.

Oh, how glad!

In between
day and night

Oh, how splendid!

In between
white and more white

Oh, glory be!

In between
dreaming and living

Shout it - everyone - 
from the mountaintops!

You came in between
and you, 
sweet angel,
are here.