Live Free

little conversations.

I participated in this conversation yesterday:

B: Mama, so, I weally am going to move away from you one day. I am. But I'm going to live in [our town]. And [little friend] is going to live with me. 

Me: Okay. Does he know this?

B: Yes!

Me: Have you asked him?

no comment.

Me: Has he said "yes?" 

B: Well, I'm going to go to his house and ask him. And if he doesn't want to, I'm going to go to his house again and ask him again. Over and over, until he says yes. I'm going to pick him up and put him in my car. 

Me: Wow. You know what you want, don't you? Do you think you'll know how to live by yourself?

B: I won't be by myself, mama. [little friend] is going to live with me. 

Me: Are you going to cook your own meals?

B: One night, I'll cook. The next night, he'll cook. I'll take a turn, then he'll take a turn. 

Me: Sounds like a good plan. 

B: Right. 

 

She's not playing around with this one wild life of hers. 

candlelight advent service

Tonight, the three of us walked down to the local university chapel to attend the annual candlelight advent service. It's a spectacular event, full of pipe organs, string instruments, biblical verses, carols, and a choir whose voices fill the chapel, and then some.

I was so happy that Beatrix was able to attend this year. Life is inevitably fuller than normal, these days. A three-year-old is a very good reminder of just how full. Between the moments of magic and awe, come the moments of break-down and crash. It's a hard thing to balance. And sometimes we can't and we just have to find a way to enjoy the ride. We could have skipped the performance, but I felt that of all the moments I want her to experience during this season, this was one of them. 

The truth of the matter was that we were all feeling tired and stretched, and could've just as easily stayed home. Yet by the end of the service, when the entire church stood in darkness and each of us, Beatrix included, had an opportunity to add our own individual light to the collective whole by simply lighting our candle from our neighbor beside us, I felt a rush of gratitude for the opportunity to stand, in some elusive way, united with the other attendees. We began to sing Silent Night and Beatrix joined in, as one of us. United. Her little voice... so strong and so pure was Christmas magic to this mama's heart. 

Yes, we all have a  bright, shining light within us. Sometimes its buried so deeply in our own darkness we can only fathom what its strenth must be. But, what a wonder it is to catch a glimmer. 

four seasons since

On the eve of autumn a year ago, we did this. What a year it has been of building a home, and growing up our family. Four seasons have come and gone and we've travelled all the way around the sun since then. 

In the late evenings just as Beatrix nods off to sleep and the house has it's first chance of the day to fall quiet, Byron and I can both be found at rest, listening to the stillness. We don't always speak of it, but I know we both sense the future in our bones, and amongst these walls. That one day, our days will be filled with this sort of quietness. Day in and day out. Season after season.

Perhaps I'll be fortunate enough to still be dancing with the evening light as it peers through our living room leaving only blurry and soft shadows. And perhaps my thoughts will sway between the two worlds of past and present. Weaving in and out, amidst the whirling, twirling moments of the future's past and the steady, contemplative ones of the future's present. Who knows? None of us do.   

Just maybe, this first year in our home leads to many more, even decades, I can only dream of. In our little house with big windows, in a small Texas town, who would of thought this is where all that living just might happen? 

 

On screen time.

A few weeks ago, I declared my blog controversy free...And here I am about to write out my thoughts on media and my child. Can it get any juicier?? Don't answer that.  

What a touchy subject, isn't it? It seems like everyone has a strong opinion on this one. People get defensive. Or feel guilty. Or feel helpless. I know one thing's for certain. Judgement gets us know where. Except to feeling yucky at the end of the day. 

I only want to share what Byron and I have learned through observation and trial and error as parents to a young child in the modern world not because I think we have it figured out. We don't. We fail often. I want to share because this parenting journey is such hard work and we do need support from each other, guidance, and most often, a listening ear. Neither Byron nor I, are quick to take on strict black and white views of the world. We tend to find ourselves frequently questioning both sides of an issue. It's quite easy to peer into someone else's windows, pass judgements and declare ourselves righteous. But at the end of the day, we can only take responsibility for ourselves and have compassion for our neighbors. 

Bea has had some exposure to TV. There have been seasons where it has been more prevalent. Yes, she'd watch a program or two a couple of times of week. As she has gotten older, she's often become fixated on wanting to watch more Curious George, Thomas the Train, or Caillou (those were what we have allowed.) Yet, ss she has entered the 3 year old phase, her will has become very strong, and she is not as easily redirected. We found our struggles were becoming more intense. Then, finally, after an indulgent week with family earlier this summer, we hit a wall once we were back at home where I knew that Byron and I needed to assert control over the situation. Though, we've never let her indulge at our house, it was beginning to feel like a constant battle that didn't need to be fought. 

So we cut out TV during the weekdays. Plain and simple. Even though the programs she has been exposed to have been as benign as they come, we chose this route because she's at a stage now, that if we aren't dilligent in our intentions, she would want to watch a lot more television. I was afraid that we'd lose control and that she would eventually be spending hours each day in front of the screen, watching programs that supported none of our family values and prevented her from her main tasks of playing and working. Then we'd find ourselves scratching our heads wondering where her newfound mannerisms and tones derived from.

For her, TV is very alluring and very impressionable. With the flick of a remote, she can be transformed from a particpating, active, verbal, musical, young child to one that is entirely passive. And passive is not who she is. She is not herself when she watches TV. 

And that's that. 

I like who she is. Even on the hard days. I like how eager she is to help us in the kitchen or with backyard projects. I like how she plays around the house with her Dolly, making up sweet and funny songs and scenes of daily life. I love her enthusiasm for riding her bike and her passion for books. I love her curiosity about the world, and her thoughtful wonderings about our existence. 

Don't be fooled into thinking I am not tempted to turn on the babysitter - often. Like any 3 year old, Beatrix can be an intense little person. Our days can be overflowing with emotions of every sort and conversations to match. There are times, I survive one breath at at time, digging deep to find every last bit of grace stored away inside my being ~ truly, every bit is needed.

TV is attractive. It can offer the much needed respite that so many of us parents need, especially by the end of the day. And I've taken it on days where there was no capacity for another creative option.    

However, since July, we've cut out TV almost entirely. We have gone for several weeks without her watching any TV at all. For the first week or two, it was a challenge. She cried and whined almost everyday to watch a program. But once she got out of the routine of watching her program, she stopped asking for it. During those parts of the day where she relied upon TV for entertainment, she began discovering how to fill her time with more play or creating her own down-time for herself. 

When I do allow for her to watch TV, she sees it as a special treat - not something that we just do, and not something that is a part of our everyday rhythm.   

We've noticed the more she doesn't watch TV, the more she doesn't think about it. The more she does without it, the easier it is for her to find creative ways in which to play in her environment. When I hear her composing songs, or playing restaurant, or mama and daddy, or snuggling up on the couch engrossed in a picture book I feel a great sense of peace knowing that despite the struggles of being a three year, she's doing alright. She is getting a chance at childhood. And I think that's the greatest gift of all.   

The Mr.'s birthday.

Today was Byron's birthday. He's a special man. Our family rock.

I've been wanting to make a little photo book with a bunch of photos of he and Bea together. I have so many. They are quite the pair.  I seriously get teary eyed looking at all these snapshots. What a bond those two have!

I know it's cliche to say, but he makes me a better person - all the time.  Love you, babe!  

First Week of Summer

This week was full of bike rides, giggles and splashing at the pool, "organizing" (she's added a new word to her vocabulary this week) school stuff, library excursions, and just the general getting use to a whole new routine kind of week. So far so good. It's been so wonderful to have more time on our hands and to feel less rushed. But I have a feeling we are still in the honeymoon stage of the new rhythm, you know.

Let's see how we are all doing in two weeks from now.

Seriously though, it's a joy to have another summer of she and I together at home. I've been looking through way to many old photos on the hard drive these past few nights. My heart aches and beams all at once when I look back on the past three years.

Yes, it's true, at the day's end, I'm physically and mentally exhausted and so ready for my quiet time, but as Byron so aptly reminded me last night, all too soon, this will all be over. The house will be quiet and tidy and we will want nothing more than to relive just a moment of our days now. 

I can't imagine "this" being over. I remember when Bea was baby and would wake in the middle of the night. Craddling her while I fed her, I remember thinking that these nights with her little body sprawled across mine were numbered. As slow moving as those moments seem at the time, they do slowly seep down stream. 

She wonders through the house these days singing: 

May the long time sun shine above you,

All love surrounds you.

And the pure light within you, 

Guide your way on. 

Most of the time, I can't help but join in her singing. Sometimes though, I remain quiet, gaze around at the world that surrounds me, and wonder in amazement as I ask myself if this beautiful life is real.  

What's a cemetery?

We found ourselves discovering a very old cemetary on the back side of town on our evening walk tonight. 

Bea: What's a cemetary?

Byron: It's a place where people rest once they have died.

Bea: We, you, me, and mommy are going to die. Then we will move to the cemetary.

Me: One day. Not now. Not for a very long time.

Bea: Will we go back to our house after that?

Me: No, we'll turn back to soil. 

Bea: Like plants. Like our compost.

Byron and Me: (Nodding) Yes, pretty much like that. Maybe we will become part of a beautiful garden.

Bea: I don't want to die. 

Me: I don't want to either. Some people think that inside of our bodies is something called a 'soul'. A soul is the part of us that never dies. It's always here. Only our bodies die. Our souls will always be together. 

Bea: In our house. 

Me: Yep.

And that's life with a three year old. So perfectly curious and fearless. So wonderfully open and peaceful. So effortlessly connected to it all. It's as if part of her soul still resides in the heavens above. She humbles me over and over. There are no words to describe the awe and gratitude I feel for being one of the people who gets to have these kinds of conversations with this incredible person. 

 

 

Walking

 

Walking...we do a lot of it now in our new town. Depending on which direction we choose as we leave our house, we can end up in vastly different environments. I love that. An after dinner stroll is always a special treat - one that all three of us look forward to. Yesterday evening, our walk took us up to the hike and bike trails that follow the river that cuts through our town. The path led us to the local swimming hole. Here we dipped our toes into the clear, rushing water, searched for skipping stones, admired the view, and felt so much gratitude for this place we call home - our extended backyard.

While we were there, there were a couple of teenagers frolicking in the water with their black lab. They looked so carefree and innocent - with a lifetime of dreams ahead of them. I thought of Bea and how she might very well grow up learning to know these pockets of nature like the back of her hand. This life goes by so fast. Sooner than I realize it, she'll be the young adult on the other side of the hole, communing with her friends, where the water runs clear and the sky is the limit. Until then, I'll enjoy these simple family adventures for as long as I can.

annual pilgrimage

What a beautiful spring day in the Texas Hill Country! 

We took our annual pilgrimage to visit our favorite farm. I remember our trip from last year so very vividly. It was Beatrix's first time visiting as a walking/talking little person. She's grown so much since then. At least the bonnet still fits her. She just loves wearing it in the spring!

Like last year, it was heartwarming to watch her frolic around the grounds. She's so comfortable being outdoors and being around animals of all sorts. Although, she had a particular fondness for the chickens (never tires of trying to catch a hen) and the sheep (who doesn't). She was a bit more sophisticated this year. She enjoyed venturing off to different parts of the farm, opening gates and doors all by herself, without Byron or I right next to her. "I'm going around this way, Mommy and Daddy!" she would yell.  

As long as she stays within view or earshot of us, we are comfortable with this. In fact, it is exciting to watch her learn to explore familiar places in ways that she had not before.

So much has changed in one year. Some of our dreams have come closer to fruition. We've moved to the country and are enjoying the slower pace that a small town has to offer. Our little home and the little piece of land it sits on provides us with so much peace. It's a lot of fun turning our blank slate of a yard into a thriving farmette!! 

We are happy, healthy, and busy working and playing side by side. I couldn't ask for more. 

 

 

 

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.