yes. this.

evening backyard shenanigans

Tonight a little voice from down the hall called out "Mama."

Mama.

For months, she's been saying mama in the name everyone in our family and point to them sort of way. But tonight was the first time she said it without being prompted. Said it while by herself. Said it in the way I have explained so many times, "When you need help, you can just say Help or Mama and I will be right there." 

Her words are tumbling out these days. I know you said they would. She's understood so much for so long that it just didn't seem to make sense that the words weren't there. But of course they were. She is just saying things in her time. As she should.

But as the words kept coming, a little part of my heart kept wondering when she would say that one word in that way that means, "Hey, you who loves me. I need you."

Tonight she did.

Yes.

i want to remember

where i stand

Today is Ellie's sixth day of daycare, and the first day where I've pulled up to our house with the backseat quiet and felt a deep tug of missing her. Not that I haven't missed her while she has been there the other days. But this time alone in my studio, in my home, has given me space I haven't had in more than two years. The space I create for other women, but haven't myself had for long stretches of time: space to just be me.

It feels as though fractured pieces of me are reaching out to one another and pulling me back together.

And this is good. And part of the beauty and truth of being open to noticing.

As I was sinking into my day today, I was thinking about how I am about five weeks behind with Project Life. Summer was so full and the awesome chaos of it didn't leave time for it. And I don't want to spend time worrying about catching up and then not capturing this transition of this new schedule and way of living for our family.

That tug of missing was inviting in the overwhelm.

But then I went to Ali's blog today and she gave me a place to begin with the wonderful prompt: I want to remember.

this morning as we left for school

I want to remember the way Ellie carries her lunchbox each day as she walks out the door, but then she turns around to hand it to me before she walks down the steps because it is "too heavy."

I want to remember our morning routine: Jon gets up and gets ready for work. Then he wakes me up, and he goes to the kitchen to make breakfast. I get dressed and most mornings I hear Ellie begin to stir in her room. When I go in to get her, we stretch and then talk about the day's plan as we choose her clothes. Then we eat breakfast with Jon. Then he leaves for work; we brush our teeth; and then we get her lunchbox and head out the door to go and see her new friends. 

I want to remember the exquisite silence of being alone.

I want to remember that sitting at the table for dinner invites in another layer of intimacy and connection.

I want to remember watching Ellie on the slide over and over again when she didn't realize I was at school to pick her up.

I want to remember hearing Ms. A say to Ellie, "Eleanor Jane, you crack me up, you know that?" and Ellie saying so loudly, "Yeah!"

I want to remember how she held on to me after a rough day and found comfort in the quiet space between us.

I want to remember the look on her face when her daddy gets home.

I want to remember that Millie and I hang out in the studio together all day and I often get to listen to her soft snores.

I want to remember the pure joy I felt playing with fabric and thread and paper again.

I want to remember the way Ellie walks up to her friends to tell them "ba-bye."

I want to remember how she bravely gets down from my arms each day and walks to Ms. A even though she doesn't want me to go.

I want to remember the brave way I get in the car each day and trust that her healing heart will guide her.

courage = trust + fear

I’ve been thinking about words this week. I suppose this is because in Poem It Out, we are gathering lots of words to add to our creative toolbox to help us when we face the blank page. And there is nothing quite like a long list of gathered words to inspire some poetry. And then there are the words I hammer into metal, so those words, in the form of soul mantras, are often on my mind.

This week, as I gathered up an "I am Brave" locket to send out into the world, I started thinking about a conversation I had with a friend last month. She asked me to define brave. Because we were texting, I was pushed to get to the point, so I wrote:

Brave = faith + trust
Brave = holding hands with fear

I started tearing up after I pressed "send" because it felt like I had been waiting for those words for a long time, as though I needed permission to admit that I know being brave, standing tall in your courage, means standing side-by-side with fear and trusting anyway. It isn't about leaving fear behind. It is about knowing it is there and still choosing trust.

As I write this, I am sitting on my red couch in the middle of my little home while everyone is still asleep and the house has cooled off just enough to feel comfortable. And as I sit here, I literally feel as though I am sandwiched between “fear” and “trust,” and I'm wearing a t-shirt that says "courage" as I admit to myself that they wlll be house guests for a very long time. 

This week, we have been lowering the doses of Ellie’s medication and tomorrow she will have her last dose (at least for now). This is the medication she has been on three times a day for more than two years. The medication that regulates her heart rhythm. The medication that saved her life. The medication that has really driven the train that is our family’s daily world.

This is really good news.

This means that we are at the point where we think it is very possible that she has outgrown both of her heart rhythm “issues” and won’t need to be on the medication any more. 

The only way we can know this is to take her off of the medication and wait to see what happens.

Twice so far I’ve almost called her cardiologist to say, “I’m not ready.”

But of course, it isn’t about me. It isn’t about how ready I am. It is about a little girl. It is about letting go of knowing. It is about trust.

For several months we've been in a holding pattern with her weight. Wanting her to get bigger to literally grow out of this arrhythmia; speculating she isn’t getting much bigger because the medication affects her appetite. So this is the next step.

And we wait.

And while we wait, she just keeps teaching us as she dances and runs ahead of us and lives a life punctuated with yes.

And I tuck trust and fear into my pocket and take a breath and exhale a forcefield of courage around all of us.

i didn't take a photo...

I didn’t take a photo of a little girl’s determined face as she insisted on music, no this song, right now.

I didn’t take a photo of joy when the little girl’s arms swayed overhead finding their own rhythm as she moved her hips and stomped her foot, right then left, repeat repeat repeat.

I didn’t take a photo when she giggled and ran into her mother’s arms so they could rock back and forth during her favorite part.

I didn’t take a photo of a little girl beginning to sing as she twirled in circles, her face raised toward the sky.

I didn’t take a photo of a mother’s face filled with so much love that it surrounded them like a forcefield.

I didn’t take a photo… 

I stayed right there soaking up every second. 

*

Sometimes people ask me how I balance capturing “this moment” with experiencing this moment. Often, I just let go of the need to get the photo. I try to open my eyes and heart to take in as much as I can: what I see, hear, feel, hope, know in that moment. When I do this, sometimes I even sense that there is something greater than me shining a light on it all…trust perhaps…love for sure. And then later, if I remember, I try to write down all that I can…letting my words tell the story. 

*

A few songs on our current favorite playlist: 

Don’t Stop Believin’ [Glee version]

Rumour Has It [Adele]

Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard [Paul Simon]

Stronger [Kelly Clarkson]

Love You Like a Love Song [Selena Gomez and the Scene]

The Cave [Mumford and Sons]

Somebody that I Used to Know [Goyte]

Graceland [Paul Simon]

Happy Feet (Musica per i vostri piedi, madame) [Paolo Conte]

Rockin’ Robin [Michael Jackson]

backyard giggles

leaning into the "in july, i will..." list