a giving heart

The baby was born weighing only 15 ounces, read the newsletter.  Before I knew what the article was about, I'd begun reading it aloud right in the midst of little ears.  He's doing well and gaining weight, it continued.  But Mom has had to take a leave from work and travel daily to the city (over an hour away).  They could use our help.

Feeling empathy as only mothers can, this story struck me to my core.  I could feel the hollow in my heart that would never mend if I were her.  The terror in the thought of this being my child.  The gratitude that it never was.  Tears streamed my face and my children fell silent, intently listening for the ending.

As the final words of instruction for families wishing to make donations fell from my lips, Peace bolted from the room. I was fearful this story had been too much for her sensitive heart.  Then I realized... she had bolted for the very first $10 she earned in chores just the day before.  Following her lead, Pie found every penny, nickel, dime, and quarter she could fit in her tiny little hands.  

Together they made cards pondering what would be the best message for this family.  Should the message be of hope? of peace? simply to say we are sorry? The envelopes were stuffed with every possible monetary contribution the two of them could make and even wishes they had more to give.

How much is 15 ounces Daddy? He found a can of green beans in the pantry and helped them feel the weight.  How much should a baby weigh Daddy? Something like this gallon of milk.  Flickers of knowing and sadness in each set of eyes as they lifted that gallon.

Then, talk of how they could spread the word ensued.  We'll tell our friends and our class and collect money for this family.  Their kindness and generosity contagious and palpable.

For all the busyness of our home, this was a moment that made time stop.  We were still and with one another and safe and thankful.  I was in awe of the children who have blessed me with the name Mom.

an accident

It began as most February winter mornings do - cold and dreary with a soft layer of new fallen snow on the ground.  Our morning routine wrapped up successfully and I dropped the kids off at daycare in comfortable time.  As I headed up the familiar steep hill, I concerned my mind with the potential oncoming traffic that makes its presence known suddenly, often causing a quick veer toward the edge of the road.  The road narrow, without berm, drainage ditches lining both sides.

In an instant, my tire caught the edge of the road.  I watched as my front right side sunk deep into the ditch and I exhaled.  Time stood still and the van bounced violently from ditch to air to grass; forced left and back onto the road, missing the tree by inches.  

I cannot recall or imagine what my feet were doing.  Did I brake?  Did I accelerate?  I do not know. 

My arms steered.  Did it matter?  I do not know.

The car stopped as suddenly as it began.  There was no other car traveling toward me that would have spurred my movement off the road.  Just me.  

'What happened,' I wondered.  I do not know.

I found my coffee cup under the gas pedal emptying in gulps onto the floor.  The visor had been forced down as though shielding me from the sun.  I got out of the car, shaking, breathing.  There seemed to be little damage.  

The tire tracks in the snow, however, told a story of luck or grace or guardian angel.  The deep descent into the ditch, the air born seconds between ditch and landing, the narrow escape from front end collision.  Again, it seemed only right to breathe.  There was a prayer of gratitude in that breath.

I got back in and drove off slowly.  The van drove as though it had been on a simple adventure.  Only the steering column forgot to straighten itself.

A day later, the car has been examined and appears to have minimal damage, mostly cosmetic.  Though the memories and what-ifs haunt my every thought.  Time will heal this, I know.  Wrapped in those memories, though, is a deep thankfulness for how it happened and who was not in the van with me and that there were no other parties involved.  So, I try to hang onto the thankfulness and breathe out the what-ifs.  And know, in the breathing, that God is oh. so. good!

breathe

I lay here wanting to pause this moment for I know it is a fleeting one.  She's just finished reading herself a book. A wonderful variation on Cinderella, starring the grand duke, who is called the grand duke because he is grand and he dukes people. 

She's tired now and straightens her pillows and blanket falling into bed.  Feeling particularly snuggly, she asks me to scratch her back - inside Mommy.  Okay, I say.  For a little while.  

Soon, she pulls my arm away, gently, and puts her hand in mine.  With her other hand she searches for any spot of bare skin in all of my clothed layers.  Her fingers find their destination and set softly on my chest.  Skin-to-skin, hand-in-hand we lay and she breathes.  Her breath is a beautiful and natural one, her belly lifting as a child's is wont to do.  

It is this breath that makes children different from us, you know.  Adults tend to breathe from their chest bringing in tension and anxiety and blocking air from getting deep into our selves.  Children are magically better at remaining calm and I believe their breathing makes them this way.

I closed my eyes and listened to her breathe, stuffy nose, rattle, and the hum of air going in and out of her little body.  And I thought of all that the breath can do:

Breathing in, I give thanks for all that I have in life.
Breathing out, I let go of tension and frustration.

Breathing in, I allow in calm and rootedness.
Breathing out, I acknowledge the cycles of unrest and rest that fill my mind.

Breathing in, I honor those cycles and know they just are.
Breathing out, I let go of the desire to figure it all out.

Breathing in, I savor this space with my youngest child.
Breathing out, I imagine our lives and bodies connected as one.

Breathing in, I give thanks.
Breathing out, I wish joy and happiness and peace to all living beings.

Because that it all I know to do in this amazing moment.

affirmation

Mommy, she whispers softly, my belly hurts.

Again? I think, rolling over to look at the clock recognizing the time as mere minutes before the alarm sounds.  I mutter, Close your eyes and take a deep breath.  I'm sure you are just excited.

Mommy, if I throw up, will you send me to school? She says with angst recalling the frequent occasions when she missed the big event because her anxiety got the best of her the night before.

Knowing now that her stomach issues are most likely linked to her emotions, I sit up and give her a look of what I hope is reassurance.  Yes, honey, you can go to school today.

Why don't you lay down and close your eyes.  Let's breathe together. 

Slowly in and make your belly grow big - nice and slow.

Let your breath blow out through your nose - nice and slow.

Take a few more breaths like this and think of something that makes you happy.  Maybe your friends from school.  Or a food you like to eat.

Just. keep. breathing.

Her body softens now.  Her face calms, too.  She is safe now and she knows this.  Her anxiety can't steal this place from her.  Near Mom.  Safe.

Feeling better already, her gaze up at the moon, she shares sweetly:

I'm so lucky to have a Mommy like you.  If I had a different Mommy, she wouldn't know how to help me breathe.  Then I would just throw up and couldn't do the things I want to do.  I mean with your baking and your meditating, I'm just so lucky.

Then she laid against her pillow, instinctively placing her thumb in her mouth, closing her eyes and drifting just into that place of consciousness before sleep.

Imagine this moment.  Close your eyes and feel with me how powerful these words were for my spirit.  I was captured in that moment.  Time standing still so that I didn't have to wish to remember it.  I recall feeling bright, so full of light that every once of my being poured out sunshine. 

I taught her to breathe.  And that means something to her.  And that makes everything okay for her.  I gave her safety and coping skills.  And that means something to me.  And that makes everything okay.

Have you ever wondered if you are doing the very thing you hope you are doing?  Or being the very person you wish to be?  In all my self reflection and intentional living, I've often wondered if others perceive me to be doing the work I believe I am doing. 

I work in a field where we assess everything.  Did students learn what we taught them? Did they find value in the program we planned?  Are they satisfied with our services?  Always seeking areas for improvement.  My mind operates much the same way in assessing my own effectiveness, authenticity, and ways of being. 

Both in work or in self, sadly, I don't take the time to explore what I've done well or where I am hitting the mark.  We joke, in our field, that we don't celebrate well our successes because we are oft too busy planning the next thing.

So, to be graced with this external affirmation, this moment to pause and savor something I've done well is a gift that won't long be forgotten.

So, too, with this affirmation from a co-worker:
     Gina, you always seem so calm and composed.

And this one from my boss:
     What I will miss most when you change positions is your presence in crisis management.  What you bring to students who are in need.

And this one from my son:
    Mom, I love when you sit and talk with me at night.  I feel like I can go to sleep better. (followed by a big, fat hug).

I do what I do, both at work and at home, because of an inner motivation to do good work believing that my work (whatever that might mean today) affects others every day. Impacting others is a responsibility I take seriously.  I want to know that I'm doing that well.

What I've learned as of late is that all the self talk in the world cannot ever truly reveal to me who I am and what I do.  But, these affirmations, they are windows into the minds of others that help me see myself beyond the criticism and wonder.  They are measurements of the present I've given to others.  A wonderful mirror lifted up to me at exactly the moment I need to see and know.

And I am thankful for each and every one.

still little

The packing instructions for each of the littles:

2 shirts

1 pair shorts

1 pair pants

1 pair pajamas

2 pair underwear

1 pair sock

She gave it her best shot and came up with this:

I smile as I see her proudly lay out her findings. 1 shirt, 2 pairs of shorts (neither remotely matching the shirt, pajamas, 1 pair underwear, and socks).  I think to myself, "she is still little" and I breath softly.  

As I look at the other two piles which match the instructions perfectly, I pause and give thanks that all things little haven't fleeted too quickly.

dirt

We're getting a new backyard!  Really!

Our old backyard spent most of its time under water, tired and spent, muddy and cracked.  So, we brought in A LOT of dirt and we're starting from scratch.  We're not done.  Not even close.  In fact, the first loads of dirt arrived almost three weeks ago.  So, you might imagine that this mama is growing impatient.

What better solution for impatience than to play.  And play in that dirt we did. 

Notice Pie in her dress and pink sparkly shoes!  Yep, it was spontaneous and I would never have dreamed of stopping their play.  That was, of course, until Peace found the blade from gardening sheers buried. Yikes!  

So we moved on to the machinery left by the workers.  Yes, they left the keys in the ignition.  No, we did not turn it on!

Like much of the play in our home, each child required a turn in the spotlight.  Each had to take their turn climbing, posing, jumping to Papa.  Yet, each made a memory that will last a lifetime.  All from a little dirt!

impromptu performance

Manamana!  Have you seen the new Muppets movie?  Alright it's not so new.  We saw it just after Thanksgiving last year.  But, the music.  Oh, the music has stuck to our brains.

Just like my childhood, music is an everyday thing in our home.  The music of my youth was classical and it is still my preferred genre.  My kids, though.  They like to dance.  Putumayo Kids have put out some of our favorites with music from every culture and every beat.  Of course, they are Disney fans too.  Sigh!

But the Muppets have introduced music that connects the old and the new.  Rainbow Connection, Manamana, and We Built This City are songs that remind me and Papa Bear of Saturday night television and rock and roll.  Life's a Happy Song and Man or Muppet are two new favorites that sink deep into our brains and come blurting out to fill any silent space.  We are hooked.

So last week as we were finishing up baths, the beat starting tapping, we starting singing, and then a show ensued.  All the while, the freshly bathed babes stared at their selves singing and dancing in the mirror.  It was funny, laughable, and amazing all at once.

See for yourself...

Yes, I was standing on the bathtub taking the pictures in the mirror (while laughing and singing along).

Yes, Mr. Man was perfecting his hairdo periodically during the performance.

Yes, Manamana...

impromptu

We found ourselves on campus Friday night with 45 minutes of unplanned time. This was quite by accident, of course, because Mama forgot how to read the events calendar.  Ahem. 

For weeks now, Pie has been clamoring to climb the large round orb just outside the student center.  The orb was constructed as an art piece, but it's been a favorite photo op for students over the years. As any good parent would, we let the kids climb all over it.  And, they had a ball.  Of course, Papa and I lost a few short years from our lives as Pie climbed higher than the older two and well out of our reach.  But, no one got hurt.  Not. even. a. bit.

birdsong

Spring has sprung a little early this year.  That fact, despite my new found connection with the rhythms of nature, makes me very, very happy.  You see, the sun doesn't often shine in our corner of the world.  So, when it does, we all breathe a little easier and walk a little lighter.

Sunday morning, I found myself in a spot that has often served as a place of connection and renewal.  My parents have a quaint house on the better part of an acre surrounded by undeveloped woodlands (not owned by them).  This is not the house in which I grew up, but have come to love.

This place has always allowed for me to leave behind the hectic pace of life and connect with the slower, more patient pace of nature.  When I was first married, it was often a weekend retreat spot.  Now that we live closer I've found myself immersed in their sanctuary more often by accident than by design.

This is a place where the hardness in my soul cannot take hold.  Where it drowns and the inner sanctum of peace fills me.  

This is a place where my children and I spend our moments "in the moment", leaving the angst of planning and weekly preparations behind.  

This is a very special place.

So, I found myself there this glorious Sunday morning, quite by accident really.  The cool air whipped against my skin.  And I heard the most beautiful symphony coming from every direction.  Each tree seemed to have in it a small section of the chorus.  And soon, I saw them.  Some small, some large, some colorful, some plain.  Each singing freely to the brilliantly blue sky.  And I stopped to listen.  For. a. long. while.

                                                   

And my soul, if only for a minute, felt safe and strong.  Welcome Spring!  Welcome!

a special canvas

My brother is a tattoo artist.  So, we are quite familiar with the body as a space for art.  Though I'm not sure this adventure was what tattoo artists really had in mind. Ahem.

Three littles armed with washable markers. One willing Papa. One stay-at-home Sunday afternoon with a lazy feel. One amazing piece of art!

If there is an award for Papa-of-the-year, I'd like to nominate my husband.  How many Papa's do you know that would willing lay down and offer their bare chests, arms, neck, hands, and feet for a little kid art, all the while smiling and laughing and encouraging and praising?  Oh boy, did these littles enjoy this time with their Papa.

Each of the children approached this canvas with their own personality fully serving as guide.  

The oldest was silly (or annoying as he likes to be called).  He drew silly pictures and wrote silly notes like "Muscle man" on Papa's biceps and "I'm sexy and I know it."  Okay.  Maybe not so appropriate. But he's 8 and thinks that statement is hilarious.  I'm not so certain he really knows what it means.  I am oh so certain that he doesn't care.

The youngest was in princess mode painting Papa's nails, making him a necklace, and adorning him with other pictorial interpretations of gems and jewelry.  She was certain to leave notes as well (with a little help from Mama).  She needed to be sure Daddy knows she loves him.  Not to be out done by big brother, she felt compelled to add a little silly too.

The middle lady takes her artwork seriously.  After all, she selected the largest territory of the canvas - the belly.  Ahem.  Starting with her favorite nickname (Papa Bear) she made two bubble letters and began to add colors, shapes, patterns, and her style in a bold and playful way all over Papa's chest and belly.  She even included his belly button into her creation!  This, of course, caused much laughter from a very ticklish Papa.

We've had our creative moments and really enjoy giving our children space and tools to experiment with their creativity.  But, this takes the cake.  I'm so thankful that I have this Papa around.  He is certainly one special canvas.