"We're all just walking each other home." - - Ram Dass

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Julie Elizabeth

“I’m real excited to meet my teacher tonight!”

                       Me too!

“I’m going to go ahead and introduce Ava too, even though she won’t be in school, I think it’s important that she knows Ava’s name”

                   Good idea…

Can we walk there tonight?”

              Depends on the weather, if it’s rainy we’ll drive, but if it’s nice out we sure can

“do we have to go tonight?


"- - oh! I just realized something!”

              what bud?

“teachers aren’t awake in the night…what will we do now?”

           no, they are awake at night, just usually not at school. It’s ok, they’ll know to come tonight.

“Will my teacher be able to teach me how to put blocks on its side and balance them on the pointy end?”


“well, that’s ok, as long as she can teach me some cool circus tricks."

            they usually start with reading, and writing your name…that type of thing. There’s a special circus school you have to go to for real training. You have to go through this school first.

“I’m going to introduce everybody to my name… you won’t have to do it for me.”

      Awesome, and we need to remember other people’s names too! (we had trouble with that this afternoon)

“uh-oh…I don’t remember my teachers name!!”

              it’s because we don’t know it yet.

“Julie Elizabeth”


“Julie Elizabeth…I think that’s a great name for my teacher…”

           we’ll see bud…

Monday, August 29, 2011

Soft Place to Land

"Mom, what's this feeling that feels like you love someone so much, yet you just feel so trapped by the feeling that you know if you say something, you'll cry?"

"that, buddy friend, is can be exhausting..."

"How do I fix it?"

"You don't...come sit in my lap and just let your body work it out..."

As quiet tears tumble down my lanky boys face, I learn yet another gift of being a mother.

So often I am the encourager, challenging them to love deeper, express themselves clearer...but I am learning the gift of being a soft place to land.

Our hands begin to stick from stagnant heat between us,
     and I fight....
                   fight the urge to fix.
                         fight the urge to instruct.
                            fight the urge to distract.

      and I feel...
                    feel the weight of his old soul.
                          feel the promise of life lessons to come.
                               feel the honor of sitting beside him on this journey.

     ...and soon, his tears of gratitude intertwine with my own.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Indecisive Omniscient

Owen came up to me this morning and asked me:

           "Mom, does God have a hard time making decisions?"

"No, bud...he's usually got a good idea what he wants to do, why?"

         "Well, it's just that Ava and I are so different, I just figured he had a hard time choosing what kind of kid to make."

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

This life his hands have built

While we install hardwood floors this week at our house, I am reminded how unbelievably lucky I am to have Jason with me in this life.

As I watch (because, let’s face it, I’m useless in this regard) him work steadily, I love this floor not just because it is a massive improvement to the ratty carpet we are replacing, but because I see each board as another line in a love letter to me…every row measured and cut a new stanza, every bead of sweat dropped, life poured into my own.

This gets me thinking of all the love notes left for me all over my home:

The screen door he has to reset every time the kids and I try to use it…
the sandbox built of cedar…
the spackled walls of a bathroom I was ballsie enough to think I could handle on my own (I couldn’t)….
the train table in O’s room,
the built-in closet in A’s….
the camper he drove to get and stocked with groceries for a trip he wasn’t taking…
the kitchen ceiling, counters, cabinets…..

His hands crafted this sense of home for me.

Every mismatched outfit the kids land in for the day
Every birthday cake, steak, pie, kabob, salad he makes just the way I like them
Every car tune-up, oil change, breakpad
Every day spent at a job less than ideal
Every Christmas present assembled Christmas Eve by the light of the tree
Every 50 pound box of books he moves for me…again, annnnd again
Every “airplane” ride he tirelessly lifts the kids in the air
Every tear I cry as he holds me in our bed

These hands shaped me into a wife, a mother, a friend.

These hands enclosed around mine as I brought forth two new lives.
These hands that find mine while snuggled on the couch for movie night.
These hands that absent mindedly run over my wedding ring, tracing the circle of our love.
These hands that scoop up sleeping limbs and dreams and places them safely in their beds at night.

His hands built this life for me…

Imperfect Prose