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?"