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.