Live Free

Postcards from Summer ~ Sunday, the 29th of June

Thoughts on Sunday night:

~  I finished sewing covers for a few throw pillows for the porch glider. I'm enjoying the adult seating space on     the screen porch now that school is not in session. It's looking like I'll be good and spoiled come late August when it's time to turn our home back into a schoolhouse. C'est la vie. 

~  Beatrix and a couple of her buddies harvested three ears of corn the other day. For dinner last night we had corn on the cob with our BLT's (and we picniced on the screen porch, of course). We might get to harvest a few more ears of corn soon. And that is how my garden rolls around here. There is something worthy to say about modern times and the luxury that is the grocery store. At the rate that we grow real, substantial, consumable food, it is as if I only pretend to garden - it's like my playtime. "Let's pretend to plant seeds, and water, and grow some food."  Which, now that I think about it, could not be a more correct statement when describing my gardening habits. C'est la vie.   

~   With the combination of not so boiling hot temps and the long days, we've been able to squeeze in nature walks after dinner. It's always so nice to get outside and listen to the quietness of the evening. I never, ever regret getting into the car, driving out to the woods, and walking. 

~   Alicia's post about cooking, reminded me to pull Apples for Jam off of my bookshelf. What an anchingly lovely read beyond being a great cookbook. I remember pouring through this one before I was a mother. Before we had adopted Beatrix.  Several years later, as much as the words meant to me then, they resonate with me even more deeply now.  This cookbook is about family, community, childhood, wonder, tender moments, growth, home, and everything wholesome and true and good in between. 

~   No matter how much gratitude I muster up about little and big things in life, I've come to the conclusion that there is a pocket of sadness and grief that always lingers in my being.  Sometimes, I can tuck it away neatly. And then there are many moments where I can only allow its presence and be with it. There is no will great enough to make it disappear.  It's an important part of who I am. It's the warp that helps to weave my story.

                                                          But gosh, it stings like a bee at times.  

~   Tonight, I had the sweet pleasure of hanging out with my mama friends at the park. They are such good bunch of women.  I'm so grateful for their friendship and support.  Upon pulling out of the park, I spotted a mama deer and her fawn sitting so peacefully in the orchard.   I veered over to the side of the road to take a picture with my camera, and of course, the mama deer stood up cautiously looking me over.   A few seconds later, her and her baby dashed off with the sun setting behind them.  It was just a brief, beautiful, ordinary, yet magic moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tell me my story.

 

Beatrix has been asking a bunch for Byron and I to retell her birth/adoption story. "Tell me again my story, Mama." It's sweet. Tonight, she asked me to tell it because she says, "yesterday, Daddy forgot some parts." Well not really, we explain. He just told the story from his perspective. We all have different perspectives. 

Regardless, she LOVES hearing it. The part where I answer the phone on the day she was born. "A healthy, beautiful baby girl is waiting for you," said the social worker. The part where we get our neighbors to watch Sandy, our dog. The part where we finally all come together in the hospital nursery. The three of us, forever from that moment on. The way we became a family. In her mind, at this point in her life, it's such a happy ending. She finds us. We find her. And we all fall in love and live happily ever after. 

I expect that one day, her perspective will evolve. The black and white story of how we became a family will be seen in it's truer shades of gray. Our simple love story will include the bittersweet curves and bumps of it all - of love and loss. If and when that time of contemplation arrives, we hope she always feels it deep in the center of her heart, how much her daddy and I have adored being her mama and daddy and how natural it has always felt to us. This family. Curating our days to be full of love and beauty and freedom and exploration so that when she is grown up and travels beyond this safe, cozy nest of a home, she'll intuitively know the direction in which to seek - the one in which her life if full of meaning and joy.

I hope that no matter the journey we travel, no matter the complexities of love and family, she'll always, always know that here with us, she'll always belongs. We are a tribe. Unconditionally. And there's no reversing that. We can't be undone. 

Oh, this growing up stuff is big and beautiful and tender and sweet. 

 

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined."   --Henry David Thoreau

 

"I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown.

At the beginning of the Christmas season, I was feeling a bit flustered and uninspired about the big ole month ahead. It was 84 degrees, for goodness sake. Too hot for hot cocoa, or fudge-making, or snuggling under blankets. I felt confused and frustrated that our days weren't rolling along like last years - gray, wet, and cold. Ah...what a perfect first winter we had in our new home. 

Still, we bought a tree, put on a Bing Crosby LP, decorated it, all while sweating and giving in to using the AC, then called it a day. The thing is, no matter what sort of upside-down weather global warming throws in our direction, little people know none of the cynical attitudes. What is here is what matters and it is exactly as it should be. The act of having a tree, sparkling with lights; the fact that we end our days in candlelight because the daylight hours continue to shrink; the joy we feel reading story after story of a man and woman searching for place to sleep on a cold winter's night; and the miracle of a babe being born in a stable is really all it takes for a child. 

Beatrix told me a few mornings ago as we were watching the sunrise above the trees across the street from us, "Mama, it's another beautiful Christmas day." Indeed, it was another beautiful day. We were together. The sky was transforming right before our eyes from the deep ingigo hues to the early morning shades of lavender and pink. The season was upon us. There was love and peace in the space between us.

Thankfully, she is still at an age, where every gift could be by-passed without a wince and these days would still be overflowing with that magical "something" . Magic is in the moments and the intentions of our actions. Magic is in the golden light of the early evening sun. Magic is in the believing and magic is in the clear winter night sky displaying a thousand stars. It's forever in this ordinary life, unfolding one day after another.

A few years ago, I discovered the Christmas carol, "The Friendly Beasts" which quickly became one of my favorite songs ever! I fell in love with this song during Beatrix's first Christmas. She was 8 or 9 months or so and in that perfect baby stage - interactive and busy during her waking hours, yoddling and waving, continuously collecting dust bunnies as she crawled into every nook and corner. She was compact and solid and every bit still a babe. I remember there being many long afternoon naps and cloudy, gray skies. And I remember playing "The Friendly Beast" song over and over. After waiting for so long to become a mama, I had this feeling, that in my arms, in our home, Byron and I received our own special miracle. Truly, when Beatrix came home with us, it was as if the angels were singing and the world was rejoicing. There was a feeling of trying hold on to it all coupled with the bittersweetness of the fleeting time. It was the dearest of all Christmases up until that point.

A few years later, we still rejoice in our little miracle child. She no longer snoozes peacifully on wintery afternoons. However, she sings herself to sleep at night. There has been a time or two in the days just passed, when, in the evening hours, as I am cleaning up the kitchen one last time for the day, my mama heart melts into a puddle right there between the sink and the refrigerator. Streaming from her bedroom, down through the hallway to where I stand, I hear the lyrics of "The Friendly Beasts" being sung by a dear little one, snuggled under the blankets of her bed.

    "I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown, "I carried your mother up hill and down. I carried your mother to Bethlehem town. I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown.

It's these small and almost indescribeable moments that I want to tuck away in my heart. Those are the ones that define this magical time of the year and make me overwhelmingly proud and content for the life I get to live. 

flowers fall

No matter how much the spring wind loves the peach blossoms, they still fall. Momma Zen: Walking the Crooked Path of Motherhood, page 78.

A couple of my blogging pals, Amanda and Rosaleen have written recently about the inspiration they have received from this book. Their words rekindled my interest in Buddhism and more specifically in one of my favorite parenting books, Momma Zen: Walking the Crooked Path of Motherhood. I read this one three years ago when Beatrix was just an infant. Last night, after intending to revisit this book for weeks now, I finally did. Once again, I was not disappointed. 

You see, there's been some soul searching happening in this house lately. Perhaps my reflectiveness stems from the changing seasons. No doubt, Beatrix's upcoming birthday certainly plays a part in the words to follow as well. 

Though I've mentioned recently of our plans to try to adopt again, I've had my share of reservations. No matter how much I've tried to work past these reservations, there's still hesitancy in my heart. It's so complicated to put into words. But, in our hallway, we have a photo wall that contains many photos of our family. Sometimes, I walk by these photos, stare at them, and feel that our family is already so beautiful, so blessed, and so complete. How could we want for more?  

When we met Beatrix in the nursery three years ago, she was twelve hours old and she was the only baby there that was not crying. She was awake, and tightly swaddled. Our social worker pointed her out to us saying, "There she is." I couldn't believe she was the one for us.  We held her just moments after. She looked at us. We looked at her. That moment, behind the glass wall of the nursery, when our eyes looked at each other's for that first and brief second, I felt in my bones that she was a force the world had not seen yet. In so many ways, this girl is a package deal.   

From that point on, we were family. The three of us.

The other day, I was digging in the attic putting away a few straggling Christmas decorations. Trying to find the right box, I opened one that contained her baby bottles, her diapers, and my Moby wrap. An itty bitty piece of my heart broke. That time of my being a mother to a babe is gone. It was short and sweet, beyond imaginable. I yearned for it for so many years before Beatrix was born and now all that is left are my memories, 40 gigabytes (maybe more - eek) of photos, and a few remnants of those days and nights stored away in our attic. Nothing stays.

No matter how much the spring wind loves the peach blossoms, they still fall. 

Several years ago when I learned that I couldn't conceive I realized that beyond pregnancy and genetic ties, I wanted to be a mother to somebody. That dream came true. I am a mother. I'm her mother. Yet, sometimes I think I still wonder if I am percieved as a mother by others (you know,... just having one child). One is so easy, right? Truth be told, am I still wrestling with the desire to be like other women? Am I still rejecting who I am and what my path is? Will having more children take away the bittersweetness of watching Beatrix grow up?

No matter what, all nests become empty. It is the nature of things. All birds fledge and all flowers die. 

No matter how much the spring wind loves the peach blossoms, they still fall. 

The lesson to myself in this quote that I've inserted throughout this text is that life isn't perfect. Things don't always turn out the way we invision. Sometimes they turn out much better, but in totally different ways. Each one of us is responsible for the well-being of ourselves. No one will heal my pain. Not Beatrix, not Byron, not my mama, not my friends, or another child. We all live with pain in one form or another. So much of this day to day existence is only a judgement influenced by perspective. What perspective do I choose to take? I don't want to spend my life longing for something that isn't in my cards. I want to accept and embrace this one incredible life that I have and the people that I get to share it with whether or not I'm their mother!

If my daughter grows up to be an only child, she will be fine. She will not be perfect. She will hurt at some point. She may have moments of loneliness and feel that she doesn't fit in. She may wish to know what it feels like to have a brother or a sister to share a room and her days with. She will have the additional identity complications that come with being adopted.

She will have her own soul journey.

The fact is, I grew up with five siblings, and I felt loneliness, at times. I felt forgotten, at times. I felt like an outsider for much of my life too. Having siblings did not protect me from the world.

There's no perfect way. Hardships strengthen. Hardships build character. One thing is for certain: she'll always have a least two people in this world who love her unconditionally, forever and always.

As for me, if I'm lucky, I'll get to grow old, and continue to learn more about this world and myself with each passing year. Perhaps, one day I'll finally develop proficient editing skills (ha!). Or better yet, perhaps I'll actually figure out how to be a successful gardener or a great cook. Maybe Bea, Byron and I will one day wonder the streets of Paris together. Ah. I can't wait. This life is a good one. 

 

 

Big Check Off The List

I stop blogging when my world is full of questions. I get all antsy and nervous. I spend way too much time on pinterest. For the most part, I stop taking pictures with my real camera (yes, I did manage to capture one of many gorgeous sunsets we've been having lately). And I'm sorry, but in my opinion, my Iphone pictures stink most of the time. 

Bleh....

But I just did it. I sent the notice to my families at The Natural Child that I will be closing the Austin location. Yikes, I've hemmed and hawed over the decision for this entire school year. I've spent way too much time thinking about what to do. About my options. Feeling guilty, so guilty about it all. Wondering if I'm throwing a really good thing down the tube. Fearful that doing something different would screw my daughter up. Gah...It's silly. Of course, everything will be fine. It has to be.  

The truth of the matter is that it just doesn't seem right to commute a hour into town during rush hour in the morning. The income I bring in is very humble and with gas prices going up, a sizable portion of it goes to filling up the tank of my economy hatchback...not to mention the plain and simple quality of life issue. Sustainable, it is not. 

What next?

Well, I need to bring in a little money to help take us over the hump of scraping by the skin of our teeth on one income. For the next few years (at least until Beatrix becomes school age), I hope to continue to have a program similar to The Natural Child here at home. I think it could be quite lovely. We'll have plenty of space to garden. I can fulfill my pinterest dreams of having a wonderfully fun and muddy outdoor learning environment for the littles. We've got chickens and eggs that need to be collected daily, birds galore, and decent amount of space to play and learn.  

And if I can't have a big family of my own, helping to raise others is the next best thing, I suppose.  

In the past, I've worried whether or not Beatrix would be okay having others in her own home, sharing one more part of her life with others. But not so much anymore. This girl is morphing into one serious social butterfly. Very unlike her mother in that regard...I have a feeling she'll be on the front porch in her self professed role of eager greeter. 

Once Beatrix becomes school age, we may send her to the local Montessori school. It's a really sweet, beautiful community. I'd be happy for her if she could attend. It's country and farmy, yet progressive and groovy all at once. Otherwise, I may continue to homeschool her while offering a homeschool hybrid option to other homeschooling families. 

Who knows? In the midst of all of these changes/options/choices, there's also the wonderful chance we may become parents to another child at some point in our future through adoption. Though nothing would bring us more joy, we have no idea if this is certain. And we have no idea when this would be. Perhaps within the next two years - perhaps not. Perhaps we make peace with the very likely possiblity that we remain a family of three.

Somedays it's quite easy for me to imagine that I am nothing but a small particle of dust in this vast universe. Just floating and drifting. 

weekend notes

This weekend was all about:

Yep, apple crisp.  

Bea discover The Sound of Music. I know she's young y'all for the whole video thing, but she adored the singing and dancing. How could she not?  "Dance with me, Daddy!" she sang to Byron. 

I worked on a very long application that will hopefully lead us to a child in need of a home and family. The thought of growing our family fills me with joy, but quite honestly, the application to do so does not.  

Camping weather is here. We're thinking about our first overnight adventure in the forest since Bea's arrival. Bea is made for the woods and a tent. This girl is bursting with love of the outdoors and usefulness. I must say, she's just incredible -  in case I haven't already made that clear! 

We're also pondering potential Halloween costumes, stories, and songs, tallying up family members who will be celebrating Thanksgiving with us, and savoring this glorious season.

Oh, the coop is completely re-built and we are nearly ready to get our girls back. As soon as we can get a load of mulch in there, we will bring them home!

Lately when Bea wakes in the morning and we get to talking about her night of sleep, she tells me she dreams of pumpkins. Whether that's accurate or not, it certainly tells me that this season is leaving an impression on her.

Happy Autumn friends!

 

Two!

A very special little member of our family is having a birthday in a couple of days.  Can you believe it? Already.  I'll sound like a cliche when I say I don't understand how fast it happens or how they grow so much in so very little time.  When I think of her tiny limbs and the smallness of her little curled up body and how it fit so closely and compactly against my own torso and chest ~ and compare it to now.  Another humbling moment, indeed.  

Bea is a constant reminder that each and every little person conceived begins with enormous potential - no matter what. We are all little seeds. Just waiting for the right amount of light, water, and gentle care. Our environmental conditions play an enormous role in determining our future.  How we nurture and bring up our children is akin to caring for our garden. Do we weed it? Are we aware of beneficial and non-beneficial critters who share their space?  

Her birthday, or this time of year for that matter, doesn't roll around without a flood of memories (both bittersweet and joyful) of a sequence of events, that led us to her. I wonder if I'll always look back and re-read emails between us and our social worker. Will I click through photos of our photo library, stunned and stricken with awe of this miraculous, beautiful piece of work that was dropped into my husband and I's hands? If I know me, I will.

Bea, you are a talkative, funny, curious, passionate little girl. You keep me laughing and smiling throughout my days at your side. I love your love for animals, and our chickens in particular, and the outdoors, and bicycles, and birds singing, and dancing, and painting, and Blackie, and your grandparents, and your cousins, and your friends at school, and shoes, and books, and cold water, and Dolly, and Foo Foo, and cooking in the kitchen, and cleaning everything in sight.  

Sometimes, I'd like to keep these moments still. To have you as my little girl, at my side, in my constant presence always. To hold these little girl years in my arms oh so very tight always. Because I know tomorrow I'll wake up ten years, twenty years, thirty years older and these days will be distant memories of time so short and fleeting and so long ago, that I'll stop and wonder if they were ever really here at all.  

You've taught me so much more than I'll ever be able to reciprocate. And yes, I can't wait to continue this journey of  life with you, even though it's a daily exercise of letting go of the past and embracing what will be.

This week we'll head to Louisiana to celebrate the life of Byron's grandmother, Bea's great grandmother. Bea will have the good fortune to be surrounded by many, many family members as she completes her second trip around the sun. Yesterday evening, Byron and I celebrated with Beatrix - just the three of us. Three balloons, homemade cupcakes, a thrifted tricycle with a coordinating "bike" skirt, and her very own baby was more than she was expecting for this mild, spring evening.  

 

 

Sunshine

I saw this documentary on PBS last week. It's about single parenthood and adoption. It left me pondering my role as a mother - an adoptive mother - for days. 

Intellectually, I know Bea will be curious of her birth family, especially her birth mother. Birthing and mothering are such primal roles among mammals. It's what we do - we give birth and then we nurture our young. Yet, in the weird twist of adoption, that doesn't happen. Mother and baby do not continue their symbiotic relationship, but are separated for whatever reason, and both must learn to live a new severed life. 

How can she not want to know? I'd want to know. 

Yet, she's my daughter - wholly, always, and in every imaginable way. So, I think to myself at times with a pain in my heart, "Really? You'll leave me one day curious? I won't be enough?" And I'll have to be okay with that. But right now - at this moment, when I think of the way she pulled my face to hers this morning and planted a perfect kiss on my lips - I'm not always okay with that. 

It's hard to think of letting go of the biggest love of my life. And sharing her. I'm sure, if I know Bea, I'll be sharing her with many. She's an alluring little creature. 

Anyway, you know what is ironic though? As I was reading up on the director who is also the main subject of Sunshine, I read an interview of her as she discusses her relationship with her biological mother. Guess what she was described as? A Montessori teacher who loves to garden. That sent me to tears.  

A visit

We took a drive. The exact drive we took last year at this time. To see someone special again. As we hit memorable landmarks, we'd say to each other things like, "This is where we called K (our social worker). Or "This is where we stopped to grab lunch." "This is the quilt shop that I peeked into to use the restroom (and buy a couple of yards of fabric)." Or, as we got very close... "Look this is the Toot n' Totem (convenient store name - who knew?) we were told to turn at." I'll always remember the Toot n' Totem one as it was only one block from The Hospital.  It was a drive down memory lane to say the least. But this time, with a one year old in the backseat. 

As one can imagine the trip last year was filled with excitement, nervousness, giddiness, and thrill...This year, we made the trip calmly. Definitely excited, and looking forward to meeting Beatrix's birthmother again, but calm knowing that we survived the greatest and sweetest surprise of our life. It was a good visit. I'm glad we drove the distance. I hope there will be more visits. And I look forward to sharing my memories of the trip with Beatrix one day.  And of course, there's so much more emotion and detail involved in open adoption than what gets posted on this blog, but that's a story saved for only little Bea when she's ready to hear it.

On the way home, we stopped on the side of the road for a diaper change. After all, this is west Texas and one can drive for many, many miles without stumbling upon civilization. I love that. Mind clearing drives.  

Anyhoo, I couldn't help but take out the camera as the wind was blowing like crazy with absolutely nothing to buffer the blow. Last year, we took similar shots on the way to The Hospital. One year later, a whole new person is posing in front of the camera.  Stunning.  Unbelievable.  Pinch me so I know it's real - moments. 

  

Finally, it's final!

 

Well, it's all said and done!  She's ours.  Irrevocable. Nothing could make us happier. 

 

We celebrated quietly with good friends and family.