Live Free

Enchanted Rock

Do you ever have moments where you wonder what in the hell you are doing here living civilly amongst the peoples? As if our comfortable lives complete with shelter, family, health, routines, and traditions are just a collection of onion skins layered one atop the other. And that if we took the time to peel away, we'd all revert to the wild place deep within.  We humans are adaptive aren't we? 

Yesterday, we climbed to the top of Enchanted Rock. The girl soared, like a phoenix. She's so strong, brave, and wild. I'm always a bit flabbergasted by her spirit, and by the daunting thought of raising her up right...to honor the warrior within her while taming her beast just enough to provide the tools she'll need to manage her existence in this civilized world.  I'm pretty sure that is a big important piece of my magnum opus. 

Honestly, when I witness her in her element, out in nature, doing big things, climbing granite rocks, steering bossy horses with finesse and confidence, I often feel that my soul is attached to her 45 pound body.  Less obvious to pin-point in day to day existence of our homely living, there is something unruly about the two of us -- she reminds me to pay attention to those corners of our beings.

I spent the best day out there with Beatrix, Byron, and our dear friend Ryan. There is something humbling, something truly spiritual about trampling upon a landscape 1 billion years old.  Most succinctly, at those moments, do I realize that we are just mere particles of this Whole.  All that ails us, worries us, and darkens us is fleeting, and all that delivers delight, joy, and blessing to us, is too.  

 

And for the sake of having a little fun on a Sunday afternoon here's a little ole school Ani that never fails to make me feel brave and kick-ass - and 19 years old again. 

 

xoxoxo,

Nichole

With Love and Gratitude

 

The Messenger 

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

                                            ---Mary Oliver--

These are my little glimpses from my Thanksgiving week. It was beautiful. So beautiful. My brother and his sweet family, my mom, and Byron's mom and dad were all here. 

I never wrote about it in this place, but my mom overcame a really big medical condition this year that had, most likely, been brewing for ages. I was shaken considerably. Terrified really. We all were.  That little, short woman - barely five feet tall -- our breadwinner, mama, housekeeper, bus driver, father, night time storyteller, taxi, house chef, and on and on of the roles a single mother must take on to insure her babies survive -- is so strong.  She is one my few great teachers. Probably my greatest. Not in scientific facts and such, but in the spiritual way. Gratitude for the here and now. For family. For health. For work. For the chance to be here. That is what she has always tried to emphasize while she was raising the six of us and still today. 

Mom came out on the other side of her illness stronger than ever and as I quietly watch her in the everyday, I am astonished by her strenghth and her spirit. And just so grateful that we get to have her in our lives today.

Happy, happy Thanksgiving! 

 

I was coming here to post about the recent happenings in our parts: purging of clutter, a new washer and dryer, the arrival of Autumn here in Texas, mama trotting on a horse and feeling ridiculously happy about those five or so seconds, the anticipation for the lovely Thanksgiving week ahead. All that good stuff.  

I feel the need to emphasize: it's golden and gorgeous out there right. 

And then I downloaded some photos to IPhoto and somehow moved my mouse which took me to my archives from a couple of years back at this time, when Bea was just 3 years old. And now, I'm struck with nostalgia wondering how, just how, it all goes by so fast and missing the days when I could scoop her up so easily into my arms. 

This past week was trying. After a nice long run of loveliness, we hit a wall, and it all came crumbling down. Now, I'm in the place where I am constantly reminding myself to dig up enough patience and deep breaths. And that when little ones push us away the hardest, that's when we need to return to them with the most love and empathy. If only I could be the kind of mother that remembers that simple advice as often I need to.  

Oh well, we can't beat ourselves up about what is or isn't. We must accept these challenges as the natural flow of growth. This too shall pass. I can't let it bring me too far down. Autumn is knocking on my front door and is begging to play. I'm not one to say no to such requests.  

Hope you all have a lovely week. 

XO,

Nichole

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Redemption

It turns out that being nearly five years old makes for a touch and go kind of season in our home.  My mama heart is aching with a familiar pang for the blinding unknown of what's next on this parenting journey.  In one hand, she can't stop herself from wanting to help manage and lead with the proficieny being years beyond her. And in the other hand, she is still very much quite the little girl and is still learning to manage her own strong emotions --  all while slowly having the veil of innocence lifted from her view.   She is discovering that all of us living here on this great big planet are,  in fact, not on the same page and that there are a thousand shades of gray.  Absolutes rarely exist.  I can only imagine that after a lifetime of absorbing the values of mommy and daddy (the two people that epitomize safety and nurturance), to be made aware of such complexities must feel so confusing and disheartening to a nearly five year old. 

These are stormy days.  Tantrums, yelling, whining, trouble with peers.  We are wading through the thick and murky waters of it all and we are mostly exhausted and feeling very tender.  

Though with my fare share of these cycles under my belt now, I know this too shall past. She is not done.  And neither am I, for that matter.  Grace will find us both . I'll keep trying to be the mommy she deserves.   The one that remembers to parent from the place of love and compassion. To say what I see.  To give horse rides through the hoouse and to play fetch with my human child/puppy every single day. To be the model of calm and to do my best to save my own tantrums for moments behind a locked bathroom door.   To chuck the to-do list more often than not.  And to remember that the really ugly, really unmentionable, unsavory moments,  those are the saddest cries for help. Listen carefully to those.  

Yesterday was one of those days. It'd been months since I'd felt so rattled by her behavior. I was beyond frustrated. I was just sad. And I knew she had to be feeling awful inside as well. After her quiet time, which she clings to lately (to sort through the difficulties of her days, I'm guessing) I asked her if she wanted to go to our favorite park. "We can climb the tree, pack a picnic, and just enjoy the fresh air." I was expecting her to say no because that's her automatic response my suggestions these days. But instead, she let out a big sigh and said, "Yeah, let's go." 

It was a perfect early spring afternoon. We were both in such dire need. We climbed our favorite climbing tree.  We snacked. We played Ma and Laura. We made a fairy house. But most importantly, we  just enjoyed each other -- amongst swaying wild grasses, red tail hawks soaring, pecan trees, and springs.  "It's so beautiful here mom. It's own little special spot."  Yes, it was the redemption we both longed for. 

Little things.

 

Bea is riding on two wheels. Yep, done are we with training wheels. One more milestone has come and gone. We've been pedaling up to the university near us so that she can ride, ride, ride along the sidewalk paths without the worry of traffic. It's so much fun. I'm trying to establish a routine where I grab a spot on the lawn to read, relax, play with my camera, whatnot, while she enjoys the freedom of riding solo - all within my eyesight. I hate to break it to the coming of age students, but this mama and her four year old are taking a liking to campus life. 

---

Gosh, I really like her. I don't know if it's just who she is or because she's an only child, but she is such a great conversationalist. This girl can sit and talk. She has so much to share and so many big (like, existential) questions. So poised, she sits with her legs crossed, sips carefully from her mug, and begins her stories with lines like, "I heard the most unusal thing today, Mom." Sigh.

I remember when I was growing up, my mom was never a social mom. She kept to herself, didn't have "mommy friends", was obviously (as a single mom with six kids) very busy at home. But that's what she was after anyway -- her home and her family. She always said that we (her children) were her favorite people to be with.  She LIKED us. For who we were. For what we had to say or what we didn't have to say, for that matter. All six of us -- each and every one of us -- were so very different. We still are. No, she didn't try to be our friend, the cool mom in that guilty mom kind of way. Oh, no, she was MOM and she definitely was not cool. But she was the one person we didn't want to disappoint. The one we worked to make proud. She had a genuine respect in who we were as people. I always felt that. Unconditional love is quite a gift. 

I hope that's what Bea and I will be like. Actually, I hope we already are. We like being together. At ease with each other. She loves searching out coffee shops with me... Last night, I found her diverting sleep by thumbing through a Martha Stewart magazine she keeps mixed in with her fairy tales and chapter books. She delights in the little things. A beautiful sunrise. Wildflowers growing in the cracks of asphalt. The smell of wood burning. A grazing horse in a pasture.

Little things. That girl. She is something else. 

 

 

 

airing it out.

It's been awhile since I've had a real heart to heart in this place. For some reason (there's always quite a reason), I just haven't been able to write here.

Maybe I've just needed some alone time. A quiet brain to sort through life.

I do know that I've been thinking a lot. Thank goodness, right? Trying to untangle the knots of what keeps me away. Slightly worried I'll never come back. Wondering what might take its place. 

The thing is, I never want to pretend. And I don't want to say what's already been said, time after time. 

Do you ever feel like you've reached the end of the internet? That every single article on Facebook says the same thing over and over. Seriously, I can not read one more article on positive discipline or tips to mindful parenting. I'm queesy just thinking about it. I'm exhausted by the bullet points. connection. playfulness. time in nature. blah, blah, blah.

Isn't that awful of me to speak about here? You might be wondering just how unmindful I really am. I can imagine you all unsubsribing to my blog right about now. 

The truth is, over the last few months, I've let the outside world filter through into my home world, and I feel ashamed to admit this, but it's left dirty footprints all over my conscienence. And so now, I'm cleaning house, so to speak. Shooing all of the nasty thoughts of inadequancy out the door. They are not welcome here! Can you imagine that from time to time, I've almost come to believe that I haven't been a good enough mother? That I was screwing her up? That everyone was looking at and examining our failures? And let's not even get started on the presumptions of her being adopted. Big issues here! 

It's kind of crazy, I admit. Honestly, I am tired of thinking about being everything I need to be as a mother. I'm burnt out on the task of "mother mastery". The noice of advice and to do's and parenting books and how to get it right has nearly stiffled my voice down to non-existence. 

It's a bit overwhelming and exhausting. The thing is, I'm not a perfectly happy, cheerful, and patient mama. None of us are. It's okay! We get tired. Our children get tired. We have opposite needs when our cups run empty. 

Also, while I'm on a truthful tangent -- I have other interests beyond parenting and early childhood education. I want to travel more. I want to read more. Maybe learn to become profiecient with at least one musical instrument. I want to bake bread on a regular basis again. I love to write and I adore photography. 

When Beatrix is grown, I want her to remember me as a whole person. Mom in the garden. Mom rocking out to Patty Griffin in the kitchen while kneading bread or prepping dinner. Mom sprawled out on the couch reading the Sunday NYT. Mom trying to capture the sunlight as it filters through her fern. 

I want her to see me not only as her mother (yes, who adores her beyond words) but as an interesting person to know. Someone with passions and layers upon layers of stories untold. I'm not saying we should all throw in the towel and be crappy parents and always put our own interests first before the needs of our families. No, there should always be time to reflect. We should take this on this role with sincerity and thoughtfulness. But what I am saying, is let it be. Forgive. Serve yourself. Find your joy. Then find your children, scoop them up, and love them completely for who they are. Trust in who you are. Trust in what you already know deep down at the bottom tip of your own heart. 

I'm done with beating myself (and therefore, her) up. I'm tired of thinking there is something wrong with us. That we aren't like everyone else and caring about what we must look like to everyone else. 

The truth of the matter is it's a dangerous habit to examine (and re-examine) our lives through a magnifying glass. Every flaw looks monstruous and overbearing. But really, when you toss the magnifying glass aside, and maybe even take a couple of steps back, the imperfections are what make our lives beautiful, authentic, and maybe even comfortably lived-in. So yes, my girl is a handful. An exciting, challenging, exuberant, strong, and hilarious, handful. But she's our little handful. We ALL have our hands full because really, what fun are empty hands.  

this love and this letting go.

A couple of nights this week we've had really strong thunderstorms that have awoken us all. Beatrix has crawled into our bed with us on both of those nights. The storm on the second night seemed to hammer in what the first one was trying to achieve. The thunder roared and rolled and vibrated our house and rattled the windows. It was a humbling storm indeed, one of those that can't help but smack down the lofty power and control that we humans think we hold. During Mother Nature's grand show, I rolled over to spoon Bea only to realize that Byron was doing the same. And I thought in my sleepy, hazy mindset of comfort and protection because here we were, the three of us, in the middle of the night, buried under our layers of bedding, holding on to each other. Shielding the little one in the only way we knew how - with cuddles and covers. 

Sometimes I wonder when she'll stop joining us. Surely she will stop at some point. At what point in her life will she feel (or act) strong enough on her own even when the world around looks and sounds threatening. I'm hoping that one day she'll find our collective strenghth within her, not because having more bed space is nice (well, it is...), but because it's the natural progression of it all. 

Yesterday, we noticed our cat venturing across the street to the field on the other side. The grasses are tall there and as Blackie stealthily weaved in and out of knee high blades, she looked up at me and said, "Mama can you hold me up so I can watch him?" And of course, I was just waiting for her to ask. To give me permission to hold her. She's four years old. She's not exactly my baby that needs to be carried anymore. Yet, as much as I am still her bolster, her security, she is mine. So many times, I have to remind myself that she doesn't need me to hold her anymore. And that my hand is enough. And so often, I wonder, what day will be the last in which I bend down, pick her up, fit her body against mine, and rest her on my hip. What will I do without her sweet little body and her squooshy cheeks to caress against my own?

It is the same. This love and this letting go. The need to push forward and the need to hold on. From the sleepness nights of infancy to the 1001 daily questions of a four year old. This girl needs me all the same. Though she and I, as in mama and daughter, will have a relationship that will continue to grow in complexity and I can't help but smile about that thought. I can't wait to know who she will be in 5 years, 20 years, or 40 years from now. For now though, I must accept. I must embrace that I'm her home plate. 

There is no doubt. One day she will stop crawling into bed and nuzzling between her mama and daddy. One day I will not be able to hold her on my hip. Those days will come. I know when they do, most of me will be ready for it. But I'm sure a small piece of my heart will always be left wondering where did my little one disappear to? And what's that empty space on my hip.

 

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

 

Treasures and then some.

This quilt, from my grandma's. I'm not exactly sure about the story behind it. There might not be a story. It's probably just another functional quilt made of scraps kind of creation, but I'm pretty sure my great grandmother, Leontine, quilted it. She made lots of wild quilts in her days. The weight of this one is so great - heavy, substantial. I'm really picky about the weight of my covers on the bed and this quilt seals the deal in that department. Perfection. I love it. It is sewn entirely by hand and is in perfect condition. Can you say treasure? 

This girl. I admit, we have days that are not always so nice. Not in the least. She and I. Together, I know we must sometimes look like two elderly sisters living together and having quite a time getting along. But I like to think that mostly, we really enjoy each other's presence. She is so big and smart and full of important questions and things she wants to know more about - like calendars and fossils. She's getting into these phases where she can play and plan and create for hours. And then she'll go outside and play and play with her little friend next door. Unbelieveable. And then, she'll ask for me to hold her at which point she wraps her legs tightly around my waist and while her arms squeeze me, her nose nuzzles my neck. I love nearly four. Busy, purposeful and still my precious little girl. She's another treasure. The biggest one yet. 

We have eight hens and we gathered 8 eggs today. I'm a happy chicken farmer. Our hens are such good, pretty girls. I can't believe half the flock is over two years old already. Beatrix was just a tiny tot when we got them as baby chicks. Time flies. 

I made a terrarium today. For the last couple of weeks, I've been collecting supplies: moss, lichen, succulents, rocks, etc. I put it together today and it looks lovely on our kitchen table. I'm ready to make another one!  

Also, I think Lori already has quite a following, but just in case you haven't discovered her blog yet, please check it out. What I'm enjoying most is her series on Project Based Homeschooling for grownups. Yes, because we too, frequently need to have faith in ourselves, just as we have to have faith in our children, that we can grow, that we can self-direct, that we can still be curious, engaged learners -- even when we are in the trenches of parenthood. Our children need role models of people doing real, meaningful...stuff. 

In her posts, she says stuff like this. 

"Just like exercise builds muscle by tearing muscle, you can grow by stressing yourself out a little. You’ve already seen everything that exists inside your comfort zone. I’m not saying you have to leap right to public speaking or kidney donation, but maybe go to a social event you would normally invent an excuse to avoid. Maybe when someone asks for volunteers, raise your hand. When your neighbor asks if you want to go along to her book club, say yes. When you see a flyer at the library for an interesting class or seminar you would normally consider and dismiss, actually sign up. Get a babysitter and go."

Which takes me back to my post from last week. It was a funny little post which was basically just me having a conversation with myself. I really, really appreciate every single kind remark in response to my words. Thank you. It feels good to hear good things about yourself. Wow! But I didn't intend to come across as sounding pityful or needing a pat on the back. (Well, let's be real, shall we? Who doesn't need a pat on the back every now and then.) That felt good, like an unexpected massage, or an evening out with the girls. At least, when I wrote it, I wasn't searching for approval or reassurance... The truth of the matter is simple. I have good days and less than days. Somedays, the dishes feel so monotonous, the whining unbearable, the day so long, the inspiration for dinner seriously lacking. And most other days, the sun shines in the kitchen, I hear a mockingbird singing on the fence, Beatrix is doing something or another crazy awesome, and I feel so blessed about it all. This IS what I signed up for kind of moments. Still I know I need to take Lori's advice and engage more in things that I don't feel 100% comfortable doing. Just to keep stretching. Just to keep in shape. Just to keep growing.