what to do with this child

She's cute.  Oh. so. cute.

My favorites are the snuggly moments.  Moments that make my heart swell so that I wonder if it will erupt.  In those moments, her eyes shine and sparkle, her smile lights up a room, her laughter is contagious.  

She has the ability to stop strangers in their tracks to watch her dance and sing and listen to her story.  Each one feels compelled to say "She's adorable, or sooo cute, or beautiful."  She is all of these things.

Teachers say, "We love having her in our classroom.  She is so creative and bright.  Her stories are amazing and she brings such energy.  The other children just respond to her."

Grandparents pause lovingly at the very sight of her.  Then they shake their heads, smiling all the while.  One usually says, "she is something."  And everyone agrees.

It seems the world stands still on its axis when she arrives.  Every eye drawn to see the beauty, grace, entertainer, and story teller that is Pie.

There is another side of her though that rises abruptly, unforeseen.  This side emerges at home, in public, and in quite unpredictable ways.  The world stops just the same, but this scene is challenging, trying, emotional, and ugly.

Tears that come in anticipation of being told 'no,' screaming that erupts because she understands the day to be something it is not, hitting because she's not getting her way, and lashing out with mean, hurtful statements that make my blood run cold.

In fact, as I write this she has just finished her bath.  A playful scene full of imaginative stories starring her naked dolls swimming next to her in the tub.  Papa has asked her to dry herself off and get dressed.  A blood curdling scream: "I can't."  Startling.  Tears, throwing.  This from the girl who toasted and buttered her own bagels for breakfast.

These moments leave me and Papa feeling helpless, unable to respond, out of control.  These moments are compounded by our own anger and the vulnerable, sensitive reactions of her older siblings.  Dinners spoiled, family time unraveled, the best memories muted.

I know these behaviors to come from her attempt to move from baby to big girl, yet longing to stay baby in some ways.  I know these behaviors to come from not feeling heard.  I know these behaviors to come from intellect beyond her maturity.  

Though, these behaviors scare me.  When she hurts another.  When she destroys a thing.  When I can't help her understand.  When I can't anticipate her expectations.  When I can't calm her down.  When she's pushed both me and Papa to exasperation. 

Are you a mother who has had experience with a spirited child?  How have you met her needs without sacrificing the needs of everyone else? How do you find a balance between setting limits and allowing a child to find their own?  What words of wisdom can you offer?

I'm thankful for the sweet moments for they come more frequently than the challenging ones.  I just want to understand the challenging ones, too.

this moment {this is MY bed}

Linking with SouleMamma and many others:

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

new life

During the Easter season the women at our former church would hang sewn butterflies in the narthex as a visual reminder of new life.  Butterflies are some of my favorite creatures because of their beauty, individuality, fragility, and miraculous life cycle.  I can't help but think of the Creator each time I see delicate wings flit by.

For her birthday, Pie was gifted with a butterfly garden (by Insect Lore) and we sent away for the caterpillars just before Easter.  What better way to teach the lessons of Spring than to let our children watch old life transform into new.  What better way to heal our hearts from our family's recent loss.

Watching the caterpillars eat and grow...

Watching them form chrysalids...

Gently moving them from their cup to their netted habitat...

Patiently waiting for them to emerge...

We came home this evening to a wonderful surprise.  In the quiet of our absence, two of the butterflies emerged.  There was an air of wonder and amazement among the littles.  Why is there red on the paper holding the cocoons?  Where did they go?  What happened to the other three?  Ahhh. Curiosity. Questions. A wise rabbi recently encouraged my children to "Ask good questions!"  This is how we learn, he said.

I'm thankful today for questions, for learning and for new life.  Thankful for these gifts today and every day.

mourning song

This poem was written in response to the recent loss suffered by my brother-in-law and sister-in-law.  At 21 weeks pregnant, they lost their baby.  This is an experience I've faced many times, thankfully never my own pregnancy.  

There is a wound so deep,

a pain so piercing,

that it renders the soul helpless, hopeless.

For each the circumstance different.

None less.

None more.

Death mirrors life, I know.

Natural, necessary.

But a desperately wanted,

deeply loved unborn child.

There is no understanding in that.

Certainly science can offer explanation and cause.

Though these moments beckon for something spiritual, 

a greater connection, a purpose.

As necessary as death is my belief in the connectedness of all life.

One life must be lost so another may be lived fully?

Farewell sweet Ethan.

Blessed are the moments your parents could hold you 

before you parted ways.

Befriend our dear Gracie.

Sing with her in the Heavens.

And fly.

Together.

Fly.

celebrating Earth Day

Appreciating nature:

Spending time outdoors:
 

Supporting our local EarthFest:
 

Purchasing upcycled jewelry:

Holding our own Earth Day Prayer Service:

Reading stories:

Happy Earth Day!