It snowed over the weekend. A lot. Sunday morning we got up, got ready for church, and drove through a winter wonderland. Branches that weeks ago wore brazen, ruffled reds and golds dressed for the day in minimalist white tunics with a tasteful shimmer of yellow and blue.
We did our usual thing. Church. Eat. Nap. Eat. Then we wrapped the girls in layers and ventured out into the dark and cold armed with glow sticks in hand. I felt like Max letting the tide deliver him to the island where Wild Things roam. Stepping across the snowy threshold of the white picket fence, I found our grove an enchanted forest and a royal rumpus about to begin!
Glow sticks were buried and dug up like treasure, their green, pink and blue light dancing like a grounded display of aurora borealis. The four of us threw snow like confetti, played hide and seek, did cartwheels and somersaults, lay down to find the "banana" moon framed in a web of branches above. All of it reflected in the crisply drawn shadows over the blank canvas of light, fluffy snow. A short, whimsical, monochromatic film.
For about twenty minutes there were no grown ups, only children. Delicious. Then the wind began to blow a little fiercer and we again took a cue from Max. We sailed back inside to the warmth and the light of the kitchen. And though no mother had left a tray with dinner waiting for us, The Daddy made us mini hot-fudge sundaes that proved wholly satisfactory.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
All is Well
The summer of 2010 brought the news that my dad had passed away. As one might imagine, this has been a bit of an experience and has brought along with it a brand new emotional learning curve. Aside from an obituary and a thank you note or two, I have done very little to record this event in my life. But below you will find, the short explanation of what I have found gentle (crazy though it sounds) about this piece of my life.
A letter for a later date:
Dear girls,
Once upon a time there was a little girl, whom you know as mommy, who had a wonderful daddy. He was good at telling stories and making spaghetti. He was creative and brave and kind. He was playful. And when he became a grandpa, he simply adored you.
Then another time, the wonderful daddy, whom you know as Grandpa, got lost. And nobody knew where he was. We asked for help and got it, but as there was nothing pointing towards foul play and no clues as to where Grandpa was....there was nothing to do but wait. And wait we did. Quietly. Months went by. I was hoping he would knock on our door one day with a smile and a big fat story. But he didn't.
We moved from Boston to a town in Connecticut. With this move came a yard (yay!) and a swing set (yay!) and beautiful windows (yay!).....and the news that Grandpa had left this world for now. Way up high in the mountains of my home Grandpa went for a drive, but his car had trouble and got stuck. He was far beyond the range of being able to call for help. He tried to walk back, but he had an accident. He fell. And Heavenly Father carefully helped him from this life to the next.
This thing that happened with Grandpa, the way he moved on from this life, was a mess for me. A disappointing, suffocating mess. It was just not the way I wanted things to go. But in retrospect, I see that even though this experience reaffirmed for me for the six thousandth time that I am not the Being in charge here, it also, once again, illuminated for me that all is, in point of fact, well.
A while ago, your Uncle Jon and I were talking about how this kind of thing can devastate a person's life. And how strange and wonderful it is that at the moment we are all doing a great deal more than surviving it. How this is possible is, I believe, a story we will each have to tell for ourselves. The synonpsis for me is embodied in tender mercies that appeared aplenty in the form of volunteers who kindly and solemnly carried a conclusion from the top of the mountain with them, a filthy new rental house that needed scrubbing, a piano that needed playing, kids who needed loving and a life that needed living. These gifts built upon a foundation of ideas that always point toward, and eventually carve out, calm, joy, and peace. As floors come clean and my fingers slowly remember the geography of black and white keys, insufficient thank-yous are shared and two girls grow and laugh and learn before my eyes, I can feel the sad gray sludge of regret and grief gradually melt out through my fingertips while something brighter, cleaner, and sweeter springs up within me. In the loss of my father, I find him restored, our relationship improved, and our love for each other very much alive.
I believe in a Heavenly Father that knows each soul perfectly. Personally. He knows Grandpa. He knows me. He knows you. And it is, in short, because of that, that I find that all with us is very, very well.
I love you,
Mama
A letter for a later date:
Dear girls,
Once upon a time there was a little girl, whom you know as mommy, who had a wonderful daddy. He was good at telling stories and making spaghetti. He was creative and brave and kind. He was playful. And when he became a grandpa, he simply adored you.
Then another time, the wonderful daddy, whom you know as Grandpa, got lost. And nobody knew where he was. We asked for help and got it, but as there was nothing pointing towards foul play and no clues as to where Grandpa was....there was nothing to do but wait. And wait we did. Quietly. Months went by. I was hoping he would knock on our door one day with a smile and a big fat story. But he didn't.
We moved from Boston to a town in Connecticut. With this move came a yard (yay!) and a swing set (yay!) and beautiful windows (yay!).....and the news that Grandpa had left this world for now. Way up high in the mountains of my home Grandpa went for a drive, but his car had trouble and got stuck. He was far beyond the range of being able to call for help. He tried to walk back, but he had an accident. He fell. And Heavenly Father carefully helped him from this life to the next.
This thing that happened with Grandpa, the way he moved on from this life, was a mess for me. A disappointing, suffocating mess. It was just not the way I wanted things to go. But in retrospect, I see that even though this experience reaffirmed for me for the six thousandth time that I am not the Being in charge here, it also, once again, illuminated for me that all is, in point of fact, well.
A while ago, your Uncle Jon and I were talking about how this kind of thing can devastate a person's life. And how strange and wonderful it is that at the moment we are all doing a great deal more than surviving it. How this is possible is, I believe, a story we will each have to tell for ourselves. The synonpsis for me is embodied in tender mercies that appeared aplenty in the form of volunteers who kindly and solemnly carried a conclusion from the top of the mountain with them, a filthy new rental house that needed scrubbing, a piano that needed playing, kids who needed loving and a life that needed living. These gifts built upon a foundation of ideas that always point toward, and eventually carve out, calm, joy, and peace. As floors come clean and my fingers slowly remember the geography of black and white keys, insufficient thank-yous are shared and two girls grow and laugh and learn before my eyes, I can feel the sad gray sludge of regret and grief gradually melt out through my fingertips while something brighter, cleaner, and sweeter springs up within me. In the loss of my father, I find him restored, our relationship improved, and our love for each other very much alive.
I believe in a Heavenly Father that knows each soul perfectly. Personally. He knows Grandpa. He knows me. He knows you. And it is, in short, because of that, that I find that all with us is very, very well.
I love you,
Mama
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Silent Night
The twinkle lights are shining a gentle rainbow of spotlights on three little nativity scenes on the mantle. The tree is guarding a nest of presents, dressed in white and red and green, cradling a baby "Jesus" swaddled in cream pillow cases. I can hear Curly Sue gently crooning out her version of "Angels We Have Heard On High" in the girls room where she and her sister lie, two little souls are snuggled and bundled. Christmas is glowing softly in my heart.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Again
Remember the day with terrible children and the miserable mother and the quarters in the pancake batter and the time outs all around? We're back there. Again. Back to the stress and the screeching and the tight, stiff feelings. And the faces like anguished drama masks. The girls are evil geniuses today. Each makes the other their target. They had an amazing knock down drag out fight within the confines of their double stroller. Criminal contortionist kind of stuff. Right down Main Street. In the pouring rain. Pouring. Rain. I caught a beautician gawking at us through the window....her jaw dropped right down to her collarbone.
They got frog marched straight to their beds as soon as we got home. And I stormed around, putting shoes away and threatening impending doom should I hear as much as one whisper of naughtiness.
I heard a giggle. Then two. I was swooping in to.....I don't know what. Transform into a beast, I suppose, when I got pulled up short. They were in there, demons gone, children back. Making a nest out of all their pillows with a stack of books waiting on the edge of the bed. My mind flashed on the Wicked Witch of the West I'd just met in the hall mirror. Didn't like it one little bit. I'm in time out, again.
In time out to remember, again, the guidance I was granted sitting next to the pancake batter puddle with twenty-five cent lilly-pads: Love them. It came to me softly like breeze slipping through white linen. Simply love them. That's the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end of what I aim to do as their mother. Everything else will grow out of that. Love them, feed them. Love them, clothe them. Love them, teach them. Love them, tell them. Love them, laugh with them. Love them, correct them. Love them, play with them. Love them, listen to them. Love them, hold them. Love them, guide them.
There are days when I remember. When I hold those two words in the center of my mind and they help me relax. Release. Like the breathing in yoga helps me stretch. And be strong. Things flow smoother on those days. Today, I was forgetting. So I gave myself a time out. And, will probably need several more at several other dates. Until, hopefully, I finally remember forever. But today, I'll settle for remembering, again.
They got frog marched straight to their beds as soon as we got home. And I stormed around, putting shoes away and threatening impending doom should I hear as much as one whisper of naughtiness.
I heard a giggle. Then two. I was swooping in to.....I don't know what. Transform into a beast, I suppose, when I got pulled up short. They were in there, demons gone, children back. Making a nest out of all their pillows with a stack of books waiting on the edge of the bed. My mind flashed on the Wicked Witch of the West I'd just met in the hall mirror. Didn't like it one little bit. I'm in time out, again.
In time out to remember, again, the guidance I was granted sitting next to the pancake batter puddle with twenty-five cent lilly-pads: Love them. It came to me softly like breeze slipping through white linen. Simply love them. That's the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end of what I aim to do as their mother. Everything else will grow out of that. Love them, feed them. Love them, clothe them. Love them, teach them. Love them, tell them. Love them, laugh with them. Love them, correct them. Love them, play with them. Love them, listen to them. Love them, hold them. Love them, guide them.
There are days when I remember. When I hold those two words in the center of my mind and they help me relax. Release. Like the breathing in yoga helps me stretch. And be strong. Things flow smoother on those days. Today, I was forgetting. So I gave myself a time out. And, will probably need several more at several other dates. Until, hopefully, I finally remember forever. But today, I'll settle for remembering, again.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
I'm Their Guest....
Remember way back when I promised to share my tips and tricks? Well, I finally did! Check out my thoughts on working with your littles in my guest spot on Bloom. Thanks for having me Anne and Emily!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Weekend Ritual
There is a Daddy in this house. He has two little girls. He loves them. They pretty much think he is it. Saturday morning I came out in the living room and there they were, snuggled in the blanket. Him in the middle, a chipmunk on each side. Still in pajamas, all three. Pink hedgehogs and purple red-riding hoods and blue plaid. Observing the time-honored Saturday morning tradition......cartoons. Did you remember? I sort of forgot. That's why there's a Daddy in this house. 'Cause there they were rosy and giggling and warm. And completely unaware of to-do lists or chores. Just enjoying Daddy and Pablo, and Tasha, and Tyrone. And now I remember. That sooo happy feeling of an empty day completely full with the simple promise of Dad. And cartoons. And cold cereal. And pajamas till....never. They do it every weekend. I sleep in. Next weekend, I'm gonna sleep in again. But this weekend, when I stumbled in, it was like standing outside a window in the snow, watching a family start in under a fully loaded Christmas tree. And having every confidence they would welcome you. It made me feel cozy. Like he always does. So glad there's a Daddy in this house.
Silhouette
The other day out at the swing set the sun treated me to a silhouette of myself pushing the girls higher and higher. There I was larger than life, taller than tall. My arms, stretched like tree limbs, caught and released two little bodies on aerial seats. I love the fine detail of a shadow. It gave me lace from the leaves above. It outlined every errant hair blowing in the wind. It reminded me with graceful loops and a tiny heart suspended above my head that I was in fact still wearing the crown from playing princesses with Sue while we rounded up shoes and socks. There was my happy projected in the black. I smiled and kept the crown on. And we kept on playing. Happy me. Happy girls. Happy us. Happy sun. Happy day.
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