Live Free

Our Christmas

Christmas was so special this year ~ so much so, that I really have few words to share about it. Byron and I felt that Beatrix really hit that time frame in her life where the season really resonates to her with so much magic and wonder. She believes with her entire heart and soul. And more than her excitement over the gifts she receives, she absolutely comes alive in the togetherness of it all. Her spirit is such a gift to all of us.

On Christmas morning, after she unwrapped a few gifts from her nana and papa, out of the blue, at a point where there was a lull in conversation, she says, "Christmas is the best time of the year." We all smiled. But really, what happend was we all took a mental snapshot of her in that moment to tuck away into our hearts. 

  

"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. 

Not so big thoughts

I've been trying to carry my camera around more. And I'm back to using manual mode (for the most part). Kiddies are fast. At least, mine is. Tell me, those of you who use the manual mode while photographing children -- What's your secret? And please, if your your answer is that your children are just so calm and serene that manually adjusting your F stop or shutter speed is easy breezy and of course you are able to still get some great shots, then pretty please, keep that thought to yourself, will ya?? ;) Because, for me, when the action is on, I slip into no-flash auto mode. And the result? In the summer time, my photos are bland and lifeless with bright light over kill. Not the look I'm going for. I've been thinking perhaps I'm in need of a new lens. I use the basic lens that came with my camera, the nifty fifty (good for indoor still life stuff since it doesn't autofocus on my camera base), and the 55-200 zoom. What's next??

Beyond my not so exciting photography woes, I've been feeling for awhile that my days are lacking in substantive time to think. While I love being a mama and the opportunity to spend my days with my girl, I must confess that I'm still mourning her afternoon naps. Even though she has a quiet time, I can still hear her talking to herself, playing with her toys, and also calling out to me at least once or twice during the hour. The quiet time remains a distracted time and doesn't give me a sufficient opportunity to focus on what I want to do. The rest of day is spent engaged in activity: Housework activity, play activity, yard activity, community activity and talking. Have I mentioned that I have a serious talker on my hands? Yep, from sun up to sun down. I'm exhausted by evening. How do you carve out time for your personal pursuits? Most of you have more than one child and somehow still manage to pack in all sorts of creative endeavors. Yet, I know, I must not be so hard on myself or the sweet little one. In the grand scheme of things, I know we are doing quite well. We spend many of our days involved in valuable activity. And well, maybe I haven't had much time for writing and such, but I did convert our home into a homeschool schoolhouse this summer. 

All this to say that oftentimes I really do miss my adult thinking brain. Sometimes I fantasize about going back to school, enrolling in a literature or philosophy course, and talking with adults about something else besides motherhood. Imagine that! And then I wonder if my intellectual side even exists anymore. Oh my!! 

Alas, I find afternoon solace in the simplest of pleasures: a scandelous glass of ice coffee, a phone conversaiton with a good friend, a still moment on the front porch, or maybe just a few minutes to myself hanging out laundry at the clothesline. And there is always chocolate. 

What gets you through your days? 

When?

For the second night in a row, Beatrix fell asleep with a picture book in her lap and a flashlight in her hand. When did she turn into such a big kid? The other day, as we were driving around in the car, I was having yet another big conversation with her. I can't remember what it was about, but we were talking and we were listening to one another, and for an instant, I thought to myself that in a few years, I'll be the mother to a big kid, for reals, all the time. Big sigh. 

There's so much to ponder in those thoughts. There's so much of her that makes up me now. And there's a part of me that feels the panic of  those inevitable  'what next' thoughts.  The 'who I am beyond mother?' kinds of thoughts. I'm not sure I'm ready to move on to anything but this: our young, sweet family.  But such is life. Ready or not, there's no avoiding. 

It's fun to watch her grow. She's amazing and witty and hilarious and way too old for her age and so smart it's scary. I mostly love this stage with her, that is, when my brain is not busy out thinking her negotiating ways....She talks non-stop. She pretends non-stop. This afternoon, the pretend theme was library visit. She designated me as librarian, she as mama, and Dolly (yes, of course, Dolly) as baby. She and her baby met with the librarian, asked if it was story time.  Her baby napped in the stroller. Then mama and baby eventually had lunch at the library cafe. Dolly, naturally, wanted chocolate milk for lunch. And Beatrix (mama) naturally wanted a turkey pesto panini. As you can imagine, there's a whole lot more that went on between these major points of interest, but honestly I can't remember everything as I was busy in the kitchen cooking dinner. 

Off topic: I've taken so few pictures this summer. Beatrix is in the "no pictures, mama" phase. When I put the camera to my eye, she either runs, turns her head the other way, or makes her monster face (see below). How sad is that??  

And yes, that's a mosquito on her temple. I didn't see it when I took the picture, but it's driving me nuts now looking at it in the picture. Bea is a major mosquito magnet. Poor child. 

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.  

bigness of being 3

While we were swimming at the pool today, a little boy got hurt. I'm not sure what or how it happened.  I heard someone say he hit his head on the slide. The whistles were blown and everyone was asked to get out of the pool so that the lifeguards could devote their full attention to helping the child get the care he needed. In the end, it seemed as though the boy's injury was minor - still, it was a serious moment for everyone there. This stirred Beatrix quite a bit. She saw the lifeguards very gently and carefully secure the boy onto a stretcher. Soon, the paramedics came. The pool was still as we all sat, wondered, and waited. 

Rightfully so, she was so concerned for this little boy. She had so many questions about the incident. Did I see it happend? Who were the paramedics? Where was the ambulance? Where are they taking the little boy? Is he going home? Were you watching me swim, Mama to make sure I didn't bump my head?

A few weeks ago, there was a conversation in the car between she and I that had me pulling over to the side of the road. It was that important. It had to do with how we became a family. She had big questions. I'm not sure if I had the right answers. Her story, our story...it's tender. 

At bedtime, she's confided to me incidents with her  friends that didn't sit well with her. Like all of us, she is, at times, perplexed by people's actions. 

She is achingly earnest. And though I don't hover over her in preventing scraps and bruises so much, I am finding myself hovering over the safety of her heart. As best as I can. Which is an impossible task it seems. 

Sometimes, in the moments where there is nowhere to get to, no laundry to fold, or dishes to wash, no garden to tend to, I can sit and be with her.  In these quiet moments, she reveals a piece of her being, of the person she will one day grow up to be. I swear, I can taste the innocence drip out from her little heart. Gosh, is it ever bittersweet. 

 

A Porch Sale

Just a couple of blocks away from our house, sits a dreamy farmhouse. It occupies an entire block. I'm not sure of the acreage that it sits on, but gosh, it must be at least three. We've walked around this place often. We've wondered who it is that occupies this home. Who tends to the gardens? Who listens to the breeze from the wraparound porch? Who knows the different species of birds that nest and swoop through the grounds? Who listens to the evening quiet as the shadows fall through the house, leaving it dark and asleep? How many footsteps danced, pitter-pattered, clunked, trotted, and ran, around corners, down stairs, through entryways, and into someone's mama's kitchen?

It's a beautiful place.

On Saturday morning, we had the opportunity to meet the couple who call this farmhouse home. They are elderly and were having a porch sale to thin out some of their possessions. I have to say, this was about the most thrilling part of my week -- to browse through the exquisite items for sale and to get to know this lovely couple. Byron instantly hit it off with the gentlemen who has a vast collection of vintage political memorabilia. Oh yes, pins, stickers, figurines. Byron gawked and ended up taking home a little stash of his own. 

And I could've sat and talked with the lady of the house all day long. She is of Swedish ancestry, loves Scandanavian folk art, and well, you know, she had some incredible treasures to share! 

Yes, it was a huge thrifting score! Vintage dala horses, Carl Larsson, vintage table clothes, beautiful hanging plates from Germany, a Red Wing 2 gallon crock, oh another hand painted plate of a winter scene with a tomten (perfect for the holidays), and a Wedgewood Beatrix Potter mug for the little miss. 

And of course, we got to talking about children and grandchildren and how fast it all comes and goes and how hard it can be to be to let go, and to be away from family. She longed to be near her grandchildren and her daughter, but her daughter left home when she went away to college and made a life for herself in California.

Oh, us mothers. No matter the stage of motherhood or the generations that divide us, there is something so unspoken and universal about the way in which we love our children. Nothing prepares us for depth of emotions. Nothing prepares us for the lifelong job with the constant duality of nurturing and holding whilst freeing and letting go. 

One day, I'm sure, I'll be on a porch somewhere, surely in need of thinning out decades of thrifted goodies. Perhaps, a young family will enter my reality and all at once I'll be taken back to those short, sweet first years of motherhood and wondering when did the time slip away. 

the day's end.

As is the custom in this house, I am the last one to bed. As I made one last round through the living and kitchen area fluffing pillows, placing remotes in the coffee table drawer, giving the kitchen countertop one last wipe down for the day and making sure all of the lights were turned off, I glanced at her little play area ~ all tidied up after a full day of play and activity by a joyful child who brings these play things to life. 

My heart swelled with love for that little girl cuddled up next to her daddy in our bed. She is a piece of art. 

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. 

 

 

january sunrises and a friday morning adventure

What I love most about these recent days are the sunrises. In general, these Texas skies have been breathtaking at all times of the day. But, the sunrises, oh my, stop me in my tired and frantic tracks. They are the calm on our busy mornings as we work to rush out the door. Noticing the sunrise quietens my distracted mind, allows me a minute to focus on my breath, to savor the soft pale hues penetrating through the dark and bare limbs of the trees that stand tall along the field across the street. Witnessing the pale pinks, grays, and blues transcend into the horizon, against these bare and naked trees, is my moment ~ my moment to let go of the worries from the day before and of the day to come, to let them go ever so briefly, and to breathe in this short moment of natural beauty. Every day is a new day. Another gift. 

Yesterday, Bea and I took a walk to the river. Empty handed. No phone, no wallet, no camera. It was a crisp, breezy January day. The pewter colored trees stood in bright contrast to the perfect blue sky. It felt more like the first of spring days than the middle of winter with the clover and dandelion thick and green at our feet. We held hands along the pathway. She and I. Then she would run ahead of me, getting off the path and into the green grass to admire little purple flowers. Every several strides, she would quickly stop at the sight a single, perfect dandelion. There she would squat, kneel down, and admire these delicate first flowers. And as you can imagine, a few were picked: for myself and daddy, her school friends Jane and Lucy, her Granny, and her Nana and Papa. All of her loves. She looked so little and innocent with the wind blowing through her hair, surrounded by the emerald, damp grasses. I hoped for a second to always remember her this way: with her exuberant joy and happiness at the sight of a dandelion - a dandelion. She was every bit a small precious child in total wonder with the world and so entirely in the moment.

Then we walked some more. We noticed our shadows following right along side of us - mine was tall and hers was short. She and I. She would run a bit to see if her shadow would chase her and she giggled when she realized that it was.

She discovered a low spot in the grass which had some standing water from the rains that came earlier in the week. She pitched a pepple into the small pond. If I would've let her, she would've splashed and splashed, submerging her feet and ankles into the pond, and squooshing her toes into the mud. This time, I had to stop her because it was cold and she wasn't wearing boots.

We continued to walk until we reached the bark park. We met a few sweet dogs and their owners. We got to talking about homeschooling, home day care settings, the local elementary school, and an old neighborhood cemetary which I didn't know existed but I am now looking forward to exploring. Bea didn't want to leave. She could've played with the pups all day. After a little convincing, we were on our way to the river.

A five minute walk can turn into an hour's walk with a preschooler in tow.

The river was flowing and glistening with the light of the sun reflecting into it. The ducks and geese were out and about, swimming about this way and that. We crossed the foot bridge over the river and made our way to a little stone penisula that juts out into the water. We tossed rocks and sat mostly quiet. We noticed birds swooping and some singing. We listened to the Sycamore leaves blow in the breeze.

It was a sweet morning. Quite nice to just "be" with her ~ with nothing in particular to do but to toss some pepples into the river and to stand in amazement of dandelions. I like that. It's my kind of adventure.