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.  

Did you know the world is awesome?

This was the question posed to me on our walk to school today.  Our final walk of the year down the sidewalks and dirt paths and past the tennis courts and dogs.  Lots of dogs.  In this simple walk in which Francesca could find a world of fascination and discovery.  Flowers, leaves, birds, squirrels.  Everything new.  Everything brilliant in some way.  And my poor heart some days.  Feeling the rush to get to school on time.  Walking ahead so that she would catch up.  Prompting.  Prodding.  And, yes, noticing.   That is, when my heart could relax.  Or, I suppose, it was my heart telling my brain to relax.

But, I have to say, this morning it was just the perfect walk.  And I am so grateful that I allowed it to be.  When we stepped out into the cool air - a palpable relief from days of high humidity - and Francesca noticed that there were new day lilies blooming in a planter atop our steps, well...it was a good start.  And I had this epiphany (are epiphanies always simple?): this doesn't have to be sad.  This final walk.  This ending.  In fact, it can be the opposite!  I tell you, the freedom I felt in my heart with this realization matched the freshness of the cool morning air.  So I went about all of my steps with a certain lightness as this thought built inside of me: this moment can be happy! 

And so it was.  And our walk was relaxed as we chatted and sang our best going-to-school song from Double H camp ("When you wake up each morning, just look out your window and see there before you a bright new day...").  Lilian ruffed with delight at all of the dogs and Francesca noticed this and that on the path that we have traveled every day for 180 days- still open to something new.  And then she said this: "Mommy?  Did you know that the world is awesome?"  My heart continued to sing as I responded, "and do you know what else?  You make the world even more awesome!"

Perhaps during this times of closure and transition for us adults there is an expectation for sadness.  We anticipate the loss or, perhaps we suddenly feel the weight of the pile of moments where our poor hearts weren't present because of our tireless (albeit helpful) brains.  Jonathan Foust once said that when he looks back on his life, the times that he feels sad about are the times that he "wasn't there."  This morning I felt this lesson in my bones and I am forever grateful.

And I also can't guarantee that by the weekends end that I won't be weeping on our front steps next to the day lilies.