Vision

Sometimes things fall into place through absolutely no fault of your own. Because your vision was rather dim and murky with a vague label of "survival" haphazardly pasted on top. And the greater vision is deeper, harder and more nuanced and beautiful than anything conceived in a mere human brain.

But suddenly, labels, which so often are touted as stifling and limiting, open doors to knowledge. And that knowledge delivers some freedom from guilt and worry. Hope creeps in and maybe a smidgen of extra patience piggybacks in with it.

A connection, two years deep that bring a guaranteed smile to her little face every week, suddenly expands beyond music and brings the soul-deep relief connection one feels when they hear "Oh, me too!"

Our support network has expanded in ways that feel bigger than mere numbers.

The days are busy, so, so busy, can I say busy 50 more times just to emphasize how busy it all feels? But, not in the head down, push through it and try to remember to breathe way.

The sun has been streaming through my extremely dirty windows and I have actually noticed. And today, the surf broke on the sand and the weather pushed 70 degrees (in January!) and we all smiled and laughed and yelled with delight.

Normal

Dismantling means that eventually you have to rebuild.

But in order to rebuild you have to have a plan.

And to have a plan you have to know your terms.

Which means you have to mull over your definitions and decide which ones work, which ones aren't quite accurate, and which ones are downright wrong.

I'm kicking "normal" to the curb.

Normal isn't.

There's no such thing.

It's actually just whatever I happen to be comfortable with at the moment.

And that's not necessarily completely informed or thought out. Or maybe it is but then two years from now I have new information and experiences and "normal" has changed.

Normal hems in and boxes up.

Normal makes me live with "shoulds" and makes me feel guilty when I don't live up to that arbitrary line.

And, why am I striving for "normal" when I would never use that word to describe who I am?

Crazy. Busy, Creative. Quiet. Thoughtful. Intelligent. Balancing on the edge of a full on breakdown...

Normal isn't even in the running.

So, I'm really working on banishing that word from my vocabulary in favor of a million other more accurate descriptions.

Because the nuances in my life give it color and meaning that is far more than normal.

Friend

There are good friends.

There are friends who are there through thick and thin.

There are friends who adopt you as family.

And I am so thankful for each and every variety.

Friendship is such a gift.

Sometimes friends just sit in support...

Solitary

This girl loves her solitary moments.

I completely understand, even when I'm trying to provide "socialization" for her - because that's an important skill too.

 

 

Basically, we like to be solitary together.

Which is a lovely sentiment.

Lenten Journey

I've been thinking about Lent.

Yes, it's June and I'm still in March. But that's the way of things, time marches on but the brain takes longer to work through things.

It's a journey

I've always liked the idea of Lent, the time of contemplation, deprivation, and the possibility of inspiration. It's the opportunity to lose a tiny bit of self during the everydayness of life.

But Lent is also possible because we know the end result. The miracle, the resurrection, the new life is in the back of your mind as you work through another day. Haven't we all comforted ourselves with the final 10-day countdown until it all can go back to normal? We make it through the mourning, the black day, the empty day, the questions and unknowns because we know that there is an end, right around the corner.

I thought I was going to have the perfect Lenten inspirational post, how after 40 days the path was clear, the way straight, the end in sight. But instead, the waiting continues. There's no clear destination, no straight answers, no questions wrapped up and tied with a perfectly wrapped bow.

Which, of course, is what the first "Lenten Journey" was like. The disciples had no idea what the end would be, there were no answers to their life upending questions. They didn't know it would be "just" 3 days before their waiting would end. They didn't know that the end of waiting was just the beginning of a new normal that they could have never anticipated and would scramble to acclimate to.

We're still waiting. Still wondering. Still living with hope and fear messily mixed together in a gradually congealing new normal we don't yet recognize. It is frustrating, it is scary, it is faith at work, no matter how small each step may be.

Fragile

Fragility is scary. That risk of shattering into pieces so tiny they can never be fit back together. Shards that pierce your heart, your soul. Fragments that burrow in deep, cutting apart millimeter by excruciating millimeter.

Better to be tough and protected. Practical and sturdy. I'll trade my bone china for dishwasher safe, microwave safe, ovenproof crockery.

But it's a lie, this safety. It crumbles around you. Hearts shatter, souls explode. There is no protection from life. There is just the delicate balance of living with risk, with fear...with possibility.

The risk of being broken on the floor, bleeding out from soul deep wounds, is also the risk of discovering the true essence of yourself; the strength, wisdom, sheer grit and unanticipated beauty that comes from rebuilding, as unfair and unwanted as the reconstruction may be.

There is beauty in the rough edges, the cracks and seams, the missing gaps where pieces were lost and never found.

Because, there are gaps and lost parts - crevices that are never filled or covered over. But maybe it's the cracks where the gust of thankfulness rushes through.

Maybe it's the gap where the whirlwind of wonder forms.

Maybe it's the vibration in the fracture that makes us recognize and sing with the exquisite pleasure of each beautifully fragile moment of time that we're given.

My First

My mom is sick. Look both ways at the cross walk and get hit by a truck anyway sick.

I’m scared. Scared to think, scared to feel, scared not to.

My mother is my First.

My first sound was her heartbeat.

My first movement was the sway of her walk.

My first touch was the warmth of her body.

My first.

There is a connection that can’t be severed by time, distance, or independence. A cellular connection, a oneness with the feelings of the other.  It is beyond empathy, beyond thought, beyond explanation.

It is the bond of joint ownership of kidneys and blood. It is the anxiety of separation and the relief of being in the same room together. It is the timing of my breath with hers, the deep inhale listening for rattles, the exhale when nothing is heard.

My brain is rational, digesting facts and figures with keen interest and pleasure. My heart is emotion, big wave after small wave crashing in a tumble of fear and hope. But my cells just know.

She is my only.

Late Afternoon Jaunt

Fort Vancouver, Autumn Light

 

Practice

The other night, after a rousing game of chase, tickling and "who can scream the loudest in glee " with Daddy, the girls went to bed and spent the next hour trying to settle down. There is a weird correlation: The closer you are to quiet bedtime the more likely it is that a frenzied game of something crazy will ensue.

With lots of hugs, kisses and admonishments to be quiet they finally settled into bed. I went in a little while later to say my own goodnights (In my calm, soothing mom spirit that is guaranteed to cause eyelids to droop and sweet smiles hover on lips. Ha!)

After a hug The Princess said to me "Mommy, I don't like Daddy."

Now, there was much evidence to the contrary, starting with fact that she'd just begged him to tickle her to the point of vomiting and protested loudly when all games were declared to be at an end. And my instinctive response was to immediately tell her she was wrong and educate her as to why.

But I saw the gleam in her eyes. The question, the anticipation, and the WONDERING of what my response would be. Those words were rolling experimentally along her tongue. Because, to a 6 year old this is highly inflammatory statement. To the Dad in question it's rather inflammatory as well. But the response she thought she'd get wasn't what she needed and, more importantly, it wasn't the one I needed to give.

"That's okay. You don't have to like Daddy but he will always love you." Her head cocked with this surprise bit of information.

"Daddy and I love you. Sometimes you might be mad at us and sometimes you'll have lots of fun with us, sometimes we'll all be happy and sometimes we'll all be sad but we will always love you no matter what."

We're both practicing this parent/child thing. She's practicing the ability to be herself, to say what she feels, to be honest with the good and the bad. We're practicing how to create the space to let her do that. How to build the safety in so that when she says it at six or screams she hates us at sixteen she knows that the love is still there.

Plus this is a good way to start building a thick skin.

Fresh Eggs

I'm posting proof that, while I am sure I'm giving my kids plenty of reasons to seek therapy in their future, I'm working very hard on not passing along my bird phobia to them. 

Peeking In



Sticking her hand right into the danger zone!

Glee. That is glee!

They're just running wild and flapping their wings and getting WAY too close!

Perhaps sensing the danger?

Fresh Eggs

I'm sure they didn't notice the cold sweat I was in the entire time we were visiting this backyard!

Time

Two girls, two birthdays.

The time, it doesn't correlate to the passage of seconds, minutes and hours.

Oregon Coast. Secret Hideaway.

A weekend at the coast is always amazing.

This, however, was beyond spectacular.

Ape Canyon Trail. Mt St Helens

I went on the most spectacular hike.

River of Rock from Mt St. Helen's.

The 1980 Blast blew out the other side.

What Christmas trees look like in old age.

Noble Fir (front) and Douglas Fir (back)

Ape Canyon Trail - up the east side of Mt. Saint Helen's.

The sky was clear, the breeze was cool, four mountains were out for the viewing.

Mt Rainier

Mt Hood, hiding in the haze from wildfires

Mt St Helen's

Mt Adams. It's rare to get a view like this.

I got to spend a day with my Mom and Dad.

Aging is Fun

Man we're at a fun age. 5 and 2, almost 6 and 3. They are completely adorable, smart, and amazing. They're also infuriating, annoying, and ridiculous. But they are so fun! We've arrived at the age where we can spend a whole day out of the house, skip a nap (just for the one day!), and enjoy being together.

Enjoyment out of her sisters' excitement

We did just that at the fair this weekend. Got in free with the early morning crowd and joined the line for the pancake breakfast, throwing our gluten free diet out of the window for the day.

This girl ate the rest of us under the table.

We visited each and every animal, we perused the crafts, we rode the rides.

Her dream come true.

Two rides each.
 

She's unhappy about the line, not the ride.

 The Princess spent her special grandma money on cotton candy,

We watched the 4-H kids compete in the goat competition. The Princess and I are goat experts - we picked the Grandest of Grand Prize winner right from the start.

 
We finished with the best display on site - rows and rows of snakes, monitor lizards and tarantula spiders to peruse and enjoy.

We spent seven hours in the crowds. Amazing. We're giddy on the sense of freedom. (And I'm mostly not mourning the fact that my babies aren't babies anymore because I love that stage too.)