The Good Life 10.27.2013

the good life is about being grateful

  being present in the little things

remembering to breathe

resting in the seat of joy

it's Fall!

leaves are turning. mornings are CRISP COLD!

we're nearing the turn from hours upon hours outside, 

to hours - upon hours - inside.

it's an adjustment for all of us, and one that i only just realized.

Fall - the season of transition.

the season before the dormant.

the season to reflect on the bounty,

and prepare for the barren.

i love this season. 

through the death of life, 

comes the beauty in life. 

mother nature is so damn smart.

these four

these are the people that fill my day,

my hours, 

my minutes...

my moments.

these four are the reason there is little time for writing.

no time for writing, 

but abundant time for 

dreaming,

being,

learning,

listening,

celebrating,

loving.

living.

through them, i will live the life of my dreams...

dreams that have little to do with money,

or profession,

or location, 

or recognition.

  

 this is me, dreaming

WHAT IF?

yeh, what if?

what if it all turns to shit?

what if all my fears come true?

what if the world is that dark, scary, irrational 

pit of doom most of media wants me to believe?

what if?

or..... or..... or..... or.....

what if it turns out beautifully?

what if my fears can be given some space - 

a breath,

a thank you,

a 'don't worry - i've got this...'

what if i just don't listen to the 'pit of doom' coverage?

am i naive?

am i irresponsible?

is my head in the sand?

perhaps. 

i'll just be here...

giving some space to my worries,

and witnessing them 

as they blur

into simple flashes of color and thoughts,

 as i dream of a life...

a life i am living.

  

this is how we do it

forget the lists.

forget the formality.

forget the measurements.

remember the fun.

remember the creativity.

remember the learning.

the learning

that happens

when you 

just live. 

thank you, mother nature

found on an old tree

lining the road to the farm.

a rolling road

that always gets the kids giggling when their bellies

head into their throats. 

most days i drive a little fast

on this back country road.

until now.

until we saw this.

this lichen.

it's magnificent.

strong.

sturdy.

as big as dinner plate, if not bigger.

amazing how it can be so strong,

yet so far out from the tree.

this lichen,

just reaching.

growing outward.

this is how i feel some days.

just reaching.
growing outward.

a solid connection to a grounded life,

but reaching just beyond...

 i love this lichen.

the small, in the big
someone recently reframed my thinking.
when things feel HUGE, find respite in the small.
when you are weighed down by the small,
find respite in the big.
the yin & yang of life.
i love seeing this in my day.
he may not be reading,
but he just offered his sister his love, and his hand.
she may still panic,
but she just told me exactly what i can do to ease her worries.
life goes fast.
life plays fierce - all for keeps!
some days you have to focus on that one small spot,
to regain your balance.
other days,
you simply have to throw yourself off that edge,
blissfully filled with the unknown.
these small, warm lights 

offering a gentle start...

to another big day.

the small, in my big.

 

it's a good life, in these moments.
in trying to understand myself,
while understanding my kids.
in trying to create a life for my family,
while making sure there is play-dough and paint.
in trying to breath,
while having my breath taken away.
such a lucky life.
it's a good life.

The Good Life 7.3.2013

the good life is about being grateful

  being present in the little things

remembering to breathe

seeing joy

it's firework season. explosions and fire usually drive me inside, 
along with the dog.
to temper the anxiety-ridden explosions, i'm listening to soul-fueling music.
and writing. and dreaming. and believing that i have it good. 
really, really good.



 'with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair'
we just returned from a week at the beach. 
a week of sun. 
a week of us.
a week of raw foods for dinner.
a week of peeling skin,
and dreams thought up on the beach.
six days of holes.
six days of running across hot sand, 
while precariously holding beach chairs, an umbrella, towels, shovels, 
and the child too tired to make it home, across that hot sand.
a week of using our stomachs, and the sun, as indication of hunger, and time.
a week together. 
a week apart.
a week of exploration.
a week to watch these children fall in love,
as i did so many years ago, 
and again during this week away.
away, yet deeply connected. 
connected to the smallness of life.
the largeness of nature.
the pattern of the waves.
the pull of the moon.
the beating of their graceful hearts.
 and the flowers in their hair.

 

 'lend me your eyes I can change what you see'

perspective.

it's a valuable thing.

perspective and trust,

now THAT'S a powerful partnership.

belief that i can have a life of joy, 

and time, and peace, and goodness.

a life seen not through rose-colored glasses,

but through a quiet mind,

a connected heart,

and a centered soul.

we can have it all,

even in the mess.

it's before us to hold.

we just have to see it.

and believe it.

  

'have no fear for giving in, have no fear for giving over'

 i can't help but go breathless at the sunrise.

i used to yearn for the sun to rise.

after a long night of nursing,

or teething,

or eczema,

or night-terrors,

or the standard host of needs in the night,

of my little people.

vacation allows for rest, 

even for the grown-ups.

i only woke for one sunrise during the vacation.

part of me was disappointed.

i crave a beach sunrise.

but in the end, 

i gave in to rest.

i gave over to indulgence.

this rise was offered on our last day. 

i was feeling well-rested by then,

and enjoyed indulging in its beauty,

its peace,its patience,

its slow, yet deliberate, pace.

the generosity of the sunrise,

always returning,

morning to morning,

in its splendor.

giving...to those who take the time to receive.

 'for it's only one life that we've got, and ain't it enough'

this is what i love about life.

the daily reminders that this is it.

the passing of hours,

the flipping of calendars,

the inches of our children, marking up the wall.

we do not get these days back.

it's today. this hour. this minute. this breath.

fill it will intention.

embrace it with abandon.

love it with fierce.

trust in it with wholeness.

and live it with spirit.

it's only one life that we've got.

it's a good life in all the middle moments...

between the sand in your underwear and those tender, sun-burned spots.

between the overnight hauls down the interstate, and

the stale coffee from the truck-stop.

the good life lives in those moments in-between -

'we're here! we made it to the beach!'

and

'oh my word, mommy. THAT is the most beautiful sight i've ever seen.'

it's a good life.

sketch of a mom

After reading a great post today from one of my favorite blogs - dear-mom-this-is-real-mom-sketch    - I took two minutes and walked around the house taking snapshots of what it REALLY looks like around here. It's Monday, today, but these pics could be any given hour, any given day.

 

 this is my 'real-mom-sketch'

a moment in time, 

showing my house for what it is, right now.

dirty dishes.

askewed science.

bathroom ruckus.

nightstand mayhem.

OR

i could desscribe it this way...

a humming home, with

time enough for cleaning, and

happy children, with

joyful energy, living

imperfection at it's finest, and

vulnerability to the core.

i am trying, so desperately, to make time stand still -

not so they won't grow, and live, and learn, and leave, and be -

but so that i can just breath-in these moments, 

and live, and learn, and (eventually) leave...because i was able to

BE.

 

Pieces of Me

  - Motherhood. Write about the ups and the downs of motherhood. Write about the joys and the sorrows. Let it all flow out. The good. The bad. But when you think you are done -- do this one thing: Circle the best parts. Circle the wonderful moments. Highlight the words that make you happy. -

  I'm involved in a writing course. A course of discovery. A course of empathy. A course of community. And ritual. And knowing. And supporting. The above is one of the writing prompts given this week. I can type faster than I can write, and I figured I could type it up on the blog. If you're reading it...then I was brave, and hit Publish. Grammar will need forgiveness. I'm just going to write...

Motherhood. This isn't something I can write about with eloquence and grammar. It's going to have to be the random string of thoughts that come through. It just has to be...because this is what motherhood is, for me. It's random. It's life. It's a river that flows...sometimes clear and with ease, sometimes muddied and raging. It's as consistent as the weather. A good string of days, and then a front comes through. Barometric pressure can be easily seen on the faces of my children. I can't control these energies any more than humans can control the weather. Depending on your personal belief of gloabl warming and the impact of humanity on environmental issues, one could easily debate that humans DO impact the weather...but nature is a force beyond the control of humanity. This is what motherhood is to me...I have some force to better impact my days, but it's not all me. There are six energies that live under this roof, and I'd be damn egotistical if I thought I could control them.

Motherhood. Tiring. Blissful. Smelly - poo and soap. Engaging. Painful. Opening. Natural. Not a skill, but a life. I can't 'perfect' mothering. I can't learn about it through courses and books and practice. I have come to believe the very best I can do is learn about myself. Understand who I am, what I believe in, what I need help with, and how I can help. In doing this work, I can be the best ME for my family. I can be the best parent to my children. I can be open to who they are. I can be open and loving, and meet them, understand them, celebrate them...for who they are. Because I am open & free & accepting, of who I am.

Motherhood is a balance between the selfish & unselfish. On the surface, motherhood is selfless...but as our children grow, practically from day one, if we try to control everything in regards to their life, in that control lies selfish. I am not reliving my childhood through these children. This is THEIR childhood. I am not reliving my mistakes through my children. They will have their OWN mistakes. Motherhood is freedom. Motherhood is freedom to explore myself, gain courage in myself, and watch my abilities...and my dreams SOAR! on the backs of my children. Opening my wings, so that I can fly as well...because damn sure these amazing beings are going to TAKE OFF in their dreams. If I don't have wings, they'll leave me behind. Or worse - they won't fly at all, out of some twisted obligation to me.

Answering this question a few years ago, I would have written differently. MY struggles of motherhood read something like this...Sleep - or lack of. Control - or lack of. Too many demands. Not enough arms. My needs. Meeting their needs. Juice spills. Diaper blow-outs. Nursing. Food-allergies. Eczema. Too much laundry. Not enough hours. Illness. Schedules.. Food - again? Lists. Alarms. etc etc etc.

It's not this way, anymore. Yes. There are moments in the day that I can't even breath because the emotional, physical, and voiced-needs of all four children come crashing into my brain (& heart) all at once. Everyone is talking. Everyone is NEEDING. Everyone is the center of his/her own universe. And they are all needing something, from me. This last about 7 minutes. But then it's done. We move on. Tummies get filled to balance blood-sugar levels. Everyone gets heard. Everyone lives. I'm still breathing. We move on. I'm rewarded by this swift-moving storm of parental struggle. And we head out to play or to paint. Or to wrestle. 

These days, it's a poignant joy to realize that MY most difficult struggle with motherhood isn't the mundane, but more the following...these four people, having grown inside my body, nestled closer to my inner soul than anything I know, are in fact pieces of my heart, living outside of my body. Walking, breathing, living parts of me that I must kiss goodbye. Learn to let fly, away. 

I am humbled daily by the thought of it. Life goes on, through their breath. And there will be a day when I am no longer a part of their daily experience. I just hope it comes way down the road, for this is my pain. The pain of knowing I will leave them too soon. In feeling this, I am always given the gift of knowing I've finally made it to this place. I'm home. These children, my motherhood experiences, have brought me home. Home isn't a finishing point, it's just the beginning. Home is the launchpad...and my wings, all four of them, are growing.