Mama Jar

I was doing bedtime with CJ when AL came in to do his bedtime routine with my husband. When I went in to say goodnight AL asked me if I had found the presents he had left me. I hadn't but said I would go and look right away. When I got downstairs I saw what he had left out on the counter for me. Dear, sweet child.

He is constantly gifting me things. Most of the time it is feathers. Feathers that, mind you, he has found in our living room, having been shed out of our down sofa pillows. Sometimes feathers that are too small to really be held by adult fingers. Throughout the winter, his gifts consist mainly of dried leaves he has found out in the yard or on walks. If there's been snow, he digs through it to find the leaves. I get a lot of rocks and sticks from both AL and BC. BC likes to bring me shells, bits of string, and small wires he's bent into various contemporary art shapes too. And of course they both like to bring me flowers. Every kind of flower they can find in the yard. I keep the flowers and green things in a tiny pot of water that sits in my kitchen window. I spend the spring and summer months constantly rotating out the gifts as they wilt and fade. 

The non-perishable gifts - those rocks, shells, and feathers - I keep in a large jar in my kitchen window. They've dubbed it my "Mama Jar". I'm not sure what I will do when this jar gets full, but I do so love peering into it. It is my constant reminder to be gentle with myself because, just look. Look at how much they love me. There's that saying about parenting young children that goes, "You will never be as loved as you are right now." And I reckon that's true. How I wish I could put these days into my Mama Jar.

Something Right

Dear BC,

Eight years old, eh? And what a birthday it is! The world is changing - has already changed - rapidly and these past several weeks have been hard on the world, hard on our community, hard on our family, and hard on you. Thank goodness for your tenacity. You have been so excited to turn 8 this year. Whenever I asked you what it was that made 8 feel like such an exciting birthday, you never really had an answer. That's okay. You can be excited about turning 8. Or 8 1/2. Or 8 7/8 for all I care.  I'm excited too. I'm excited to watch you grow. You are doing some amazing things around here. Your pallet fort, fairy habitat, fire pit, general yard work, flower tending, make-believe with AL, swinging and chase with CJ, getting lost in stories, books, and songs, gaining an understanding of who you are and, indeed, who you want to be. When you come in covered in dirt, pockets full to bursting with nature items collected that day, I know something is right in the world. I am so glad your Papa and I can provide you with the space and time to do all of those things. I feel lucky in that way. And I know I'm the luckiest because I get to be your Mama.

Happy Birthday, Sprout.

Love,
~Mama

To My Daughter On Her First Birthday

My Sweet Girl,

I have never met someone who knows her own mind so well at such a young age. Today you are one, and what a year it has been. Up until the day you were born, I think, we didn't know we needed you. You complete our family in the most perfect of ways. You have a wonderful laugh. You love animals, and rocks, and splashing your feet in water of all sorts. You are always ready to jump right in with the roughhousing going on and the family dance parties. You love all foods savory. You know millions of words and signs (that's hyperbole but only sorta): cracker, bird, apple, rock, cool, #MILK, #RABBIT, #DUCK, #ROCK... You give kisses to the animals you see and love in books, and know all the animal sounds (except, gosh, what does a giraffe say?!). You run and are trying to jump. You climb and climb and fall off and tumble and climb some more. You are a force. You make BC and Papa melt with your hugs. You make AL giggle with your demands and straightforward expression of glee. You make me shine with your love light reflected back at me in those eyes of yours where I see myself. 

I see you as your own person more clearly than I was able to see your siblings in their first years of life. I think most of that has to do with the fact that I am more experienced at this parenting thing (older and wiser and all of that) than I was 8 and 4 years ago. But also, I know, some of it has to do with the fact that you do you. You absolutely know who you are and do not hesitate to let others know as well. That, my sweet one, is what I hope will never go away. If you hold onto that I won't ever worry about you. I'll only sit back and watch you take on the world. 

Happy Birthday, CJ.

Love,

~Mama

The Happiest

Dear Sweet Boy,

Four. FOUR. Your sweet spirit is almost bigger than you, sometimes. And four suits you fine. You became a big brother this last year, and that suits you more than fine. Your sense of humor, tactile-ness, sparkling extraversion, love of song and rhyme, and ability to find beauty in everything still drive you through this world. I am still amazed by you, challenged by you, and loved by you in ways I will never fully understand. Just as I love you in ways I will never be able to fully articulate. I love watching you grow up and count it one of my great pleasures to do so. I love watching you play with BC and your Little Star, how you listen so intently to long lyrics, how you form those complex sentences, and how you enjoy a good joke (and, okay, also a bad joke). I love to watch you dance. You, my darling, are the sprinkles on this sweet life. Your Papa and I always say that your mantra is "I'm just happy to be here." And you are. And I, my dear, am the happiest to have you.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
~Mama

Resolution: Day One

My resolution is for a stronger light.
That is to say, for quite some time now,
My light has been deprived of oxygen.
My light, the one I was told by all of those people,
On all of those Sundays,
All of those years ago,
To let Shine, Shine, Shine,
Let it Shine, is dwindling.

See this world has got me so low
I cannot draw a breath.
All around me I see darkness and fury,
Claw marks and notes drawn in the dirt
To loved ones.
I hear the distant echoes of people
Calling from other holes
From which they cannot get out.
Their lights are dwindling too.
And here I've sat, for the better part of 3 years,
Just watching my light grow dimmer.

That is done now.

I've got these three souls here
Right at the top
And I can see them.
Their lights are strong.
They call to me and their breath,
Albeit an exhalation,
Is somehow, remarkably,
Light-growing oxygen to me.
I'm going up for them.
But,

I'm mad.

I'm mad at myself
For sinking,
For staying,
For forgetting the Good and
Beautiful Things.
Like my children.
Like fresh baked bread.
Like the first snowfall,
The last spring rain,
A clean kitchen,
A gifted rock or feather or,
God knows, animal skull.

I'm mad,
At myself for not doing
The small things,
The brave things,
The right things.
For not living my values out loud.

That is done now.

I am resolved
To grow my light.
I will cultivate love.
I will live my values
Out Loud.
I will remember what a
Remarkably sweet life I have.
I will love and laugh freely.
I will speak up and out honestly.
I will mourn and grieve openly.
I will heal and hope continually.

Today, I say,
Day One.

By Myself

My friend, MA, is due to have her first baby really soon. Thinking about her and hearing about all the thoughts and emotions she's experiencing as she heads into full-blown Motherhood reminds me of my early days as a new Mama. The immediate postpartum period is incredible. It is like having a first date with someone you've never met, yet somehow already know intimately, over and over and over again. It is so raw and personal, yet somehow also so gorgeous and universal. It is both stressful and peaceful. It is a time of rest and recovery, and a time of joy and exuberance. It is lovely and it is scary. 

When BC was 2 weeks old my husband went back to work (thanks to our country's lack of any sort of maternal or paternal paid leave) and I was alone in the house with my son. He was so tiny and fragile seeming. And I didn't know what to do. I had to figure many things out. I had to figure him out, of course (that is an ongoing task, as it turns out), but I also had to figure out the more practical things like how to make myself lunch, eat, and wash dishes with one hand. I remember vividly that time period, especially the first time I had to take BC for an appointment by myself. 

He had a chiropractor appointment. He had already had a couple of them and had been to my uncle's birthday party, but those three trips were with my husband. He drove and I sat in the backseat of our car with this tiny person who I just knew I had to watch lest he should stop breathing while in the car. This trip, however, that was no longer an option because I would have to be driving. My son would be sitting in the backseat by himself. What if he cried? What if he screamed? What if I forgot the diaper bag, or some critical component of its contents at home? What if he stopped breathing? What if I got into an accident? Or had a flat tire? Or couldn't get the heat to work or ran a red light and was pulled over and he started screaming because the car wasn't moving and so I had to get out of the car to get him out and the police officer thought I was being hostile and I was arrested and... You get the point. 

I tried to put on a brave face as my husband went to work. He asked me if he should call in and come with me. "No," I said. "I'm going to have to do this by myself all the time, eventually. Better get on with it." So he left. Because I told him to. As I was getting ready for the trip, gathering, checking, then rechecking diaper bag supplies, my friend SM called "just to say hi. See how you're feeling." "I'm fine. I'm good." I lied. "I'm taking BC to an appointment today. By myself." "Ooohh," she said, knowingly. "Do you want me to come with you?" 

SM had her first child 4 months before I had mine. So she knew. She knew. Becoming a mother is an experience likened to many things but, for my part, no comparison has quite hit the mark. The trendy phrase "all the feelings" comes close. Maybe "all the feelings through a magnifying glass." is closer still. It messes with your head in many ways. It changes your soul in one profound way. Everything is new. And that newness is scary. And as I held my fear in close, as I tried to not give in to it, I did not realize I was holding onto this insane notion that I should have been able to do it by myself. That I was this baby's Mama so I needed to just be able to be with him, to take care of him, to do everything for him, and be his everything by myself. I shouldn't have. That's not it. We are made for villages, not silos. We are made for community, and fellowship, and wisdom passed down through generations upon generations. We are made for more than being by ourselves. 

"That would be great." I told her. We worked out the details and hung up the phones and I burst into tears. I felt such relief. I felt such vulnerability. I felt seen. And I was. Because she knew. I've never fully thanked SM. So here it is. SM, if you're reading this, thank you. Thank you for being in my village that day, and for so many days since then. I will forever be grateful for your presence in my life. 

And to my friend MA, as the days of your pregnancy wind down and you anxiously await the arrival of your baby, I wish for you a village. And that you never feel the need to do it by yourself. I'll be first in line to join your village. 

Happy Mother's Day. 

~M

Seven

BC,

Somehow, incredibly, you are seven years old. With each birthday I feel as if you've reached some sort of new milestone. Seven feels just as momentous an occasion as six, or five, or even one did. You are growing and becoming in ways I could only have imagined seven years ago. You are a wonderment, my son. I love watching you figure out who you are. You remain a lover of great stories, of language and words, of random acts of kindness, and of nature. You are growing to be a mover, an artist, and a leader. I am proud, oh so proud of your strength of character and the way you know your own mind. Although this "stubbornness" does give me grey hairs, I really do know what a wonderful trait it is and how well it will serve you in your life journey. Stay stubborn. Keep asking me the tough questions. And always and forever know how much I love you and how lucky I am to be your Mama.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
~Mama