Maya, ravenously: "Oohhh... It's a BIG worm! Yum!"
Before I get turned over to Child Protection Services, it should be mentioned she was talking about her after-dinner Gummy Worms...
July 31, 2011
July 29, 2011
But I want you now...
Sometimes my kids leave me speechless in the 'everything's right with the world' kind of way.
I called home late yesterday, from our office in Oregon, to check in. Allan said Maya wanted to talk to me, and handed her the phone... "Mama?" she said. "Are you here?" No, buddy, I'm not 'here' yet. "But I want you!" Oh, sweet buddy. I know. I'll be home tomorrow. "But I want you now! I see an airplane... Are you in the airplane?" It's not *my* airplane, buddy. I'll be back as soon as I can. "I miss you, Mama."
Blinking away tears, here.
Allan said she saw a helicopter while playing in the pool, and rushed the backyard, her little naked self, shouting "Mama is coming!". And repeated that for every plane she saw.
Today, she's hardly let me go, very sweet and affectionate. Seeing Jack-man was stupendous, too... boy, I want to can this feeling of elation and OK-ness...
I called home late yesterday, from our office in Oregon, to check in. Allan said Maya wanted to talk to me, and handed her the phone... "Mama?" she said. "Are you here?" No, buddy, I'm not 'here' yet. "But I want you!" Oh, sweet buddy. I know. I'll be home tomorrow. "But I want you now! I see an airplane... Are you in the airplane?" It's not *my* airplane, buddy. I'll be back as soon as I can. "I miss you, Mama."
Blinking away tears, here.
Allan said she saw a helicopter while playing in the pool, and rushed the backyard, her little naked self, shouting "Mama is coming!". And repeated that for every plane she saw.
Today, she's hardly let me go, very sweet and affectionate. Seeing Jack-man was stupendous, too... boy, I want to can this feeling of elation and OK-ness...
July 15, 2011
Brother, sister
A couple of days ago, I'm waking up Maya for school. She's *quite* sleepy, starting to work on the eye-opening process, and is as 'out' as they make them... suddenly through her fog, I get her first question of the morning, all raspy and sleepy: "Is Jack up?" Me: "No, buddy, he's still asleep." Intending to prove me wrong as early as he can, Jack loudly signals himself at that very moment. Maya sheds all her deep-sleep state, shoots straight out of bed and, running down the hall to his room, throws me "Mama, you stay there, I'll help Jack!".
That little boy's got one cool sister.
That little boy's got one cool sister.
July 08, 2011
My Fair Lady
Yesterday when I told Maya that my birthday would be today, she put on her grumpy pants and demanded that it be *her* birthday instead. We had to gently change the subject.
Between this birthday jealousy, and the fact that I was dealing with a three-year-old, I was certain she forgot all about it.
Then this morning, while I was getting ready in the bathroom, she brought me a piece of (wooden but real) birthday cake (her Christmas gift since she's just a little crazy about birthday cakes) on its appropriate plate, and gave it to me, saying "Happy Birthday, Mama!"
She's just so ... unbelievable.
Between this birthday jealousy, and the fact that I was dealing with a three-year-old, I was certain she forgot all about it.
Then this morning, while I was getting ready in the bathroom, she brought me a piece of (wooden but real) birthday cake (her Christmas gift since she's just a little crazy about birthday cakes) on its appropriate plate, and gave it to me, saying "Happy Birthday, Mama!"
She's just so ... unbelievable.
Rainbow
I was thinking of a clever and deeply meaningful title for this post, but there really isn't one - or a need for one.
The evening of the last post, Maya and I were driving back home, and the entire ride home, about fifteen minutes, in a rainless sky, in a high, fuzzy, billowy evening-colored cloud bank lighted up by summer sunset, there was a left arch of a rainbow. Beautiful and pronounced. Some atmospheric oddity. Or what I without question felt was the answer to my ongoing prayer. I kept looking straight at it, as it was always in front of my car, and simply felt secure and assured. At some point I questioned if I wasn't imagining it, but there it was, and still was, and still was even as we turned onto our street.
So you know, you see. It's a strange dichotomy of being spiritually firm and lifted up while living in emotional chaos. Even the most intense emotional swings are subdued in part due to high physical stress of commute, still-broken sleep, attempts at high-powered lengthy concentration in the office, and overall simple physical inability to process emotional extremes fully. Maybe that's for the best in a way. But through the 'refinery' of this I feel a solid bedrock that even through the worst days moves not. And that's awesome, and incredibly encouraging. He does lift me up. Or He simply doesn't let me go down.
For the most part, I have been able to superimpose this grace onto the kids no matter what because the sense of responsibility for what they're exposed to is really high, it's like an imposed awareness of what I look like and sould like to them at all times. Perhaps I'm really, *really* sensitive to that from some of my own kid experiences. But that's OK if the end result is measured words and measured approach to them no matter what. Some times it's harder than others just because some times all I really have left in me is strength for a few stumbling footsteps to fall on my bed, but as old adage goes, parenting takes no breaks (no prisoners, either).
Though it's such a bother in countless other ways, the long commute does give me a chance to privately worship through music, to find echoes in lyrics that are meaningful to me, to cry when a certain truth hits home more than before. "When all of a sudden / I am unaware of these / Afflictions eclipsed by glory / I realize just how / Beautiful you are and how / Great your affecions are for me..." (I used to hum this song a lot to Jack when he was first back from the hospital on oxygen and Mom was still here and the whole house could be cut rigid with stress).
It is possible to feel tired and strong. Wronged and right. Humbled and powerful. In fact those combinations become more meaningful. I've never believed in God, or trusted Him, more. It's a huge relief to know that some changes, should they take place, are simply not up to me - but neither are they up to others. I choose to follow a Miracle Worker, and relinquishing the fear and angst of attempting miracle-working myself is unreal relief. It allows faith in seemingly impossible, in seemingly gone and lost, in seemingly irrevocably damaged.
The evening of the last post, Maya and I were driving back home, and the entire ride home, about fifteen minutes, in a rainless sky, in a high, fuzzy, billowy evening-colored cloud bank lighted up by summer sunset, there was a left arch of a rainbow. Beautiful and pronounced. Some atmospheric oddity. Or what I without question felt was the answer to my ongoing prayer. I kept looking straight at it, as it was always in front of my car, and simply felt secure and assured. At some point I questioned if I wasn't imagining it, but there it was, and still was, and still was even as we turned onto our street.
So you know, you see. It's a strange dichotomy of being spiritually firm and lifted up while living in emotional chaos. Even the most intense emotional swings are subdued in part due to high physical stress of commute, still-broken sleep, attempts at high-powered lengthy concentration in the office, and overall simple physical inability to process emotional extremes fully. Maybe that's for the best in a way. But through the 'refinery' of this I feel a solid bedrock that even through the worst days moves not. And that's awesome, and incredibly encouraging. He does lift me up. Or He simply doesn't let me go down.
For the most part, I have been able to superimpose this grace onto the kids no matter what because the sense of responsibility for what they're exposed to is really high, it's like an imposed awareness of what I look like and sould like to them at all times. Perhaps I'm really, *really* sensitive to that from some of my own kid experiences. But that's OK if the end result is measured words and measured approach to them no matter what. Some times it's harder than others just because some times all I really have left in me is strength for a few stumbling footsteps to fall on my bed, but as old adage goes, parenting takes no breaks (no prisoners, either).
Though it's such a bother in countless other ways, the long commute does give me a chance to privately worship through music, to find echoes in lyrics that are meaningful to me, to cry when a certain truth hits home more than before. "When all of a sudden / I am unaware of these / Afflictions eclipsed by glory / I realize just how / Beautiful you are and how / Great your affecions are for me..." (I used to hum this song a lot to Jack when he was first back from the hospital on oxygen and Mom was still here and the whole house could be cut rigid with stress).
It is possible to feel tired and strong. Wronged and right. Humbled and powerful. In fact those combinations become more meaningful. I've never believed in God, or trusted Him, more. It's a huge relief to know that some changes, should they take place, are simply not up to me - but neither are they up to others. I choose to follow a Miracle Worker, and relinquishing the fear and angst of attempting miracle-working myself is unreal relief. It allows faith in seemingly impossible, in seemingly gone and lost, in seemingly irrevocably damaged.
July 05, 2011
God - YOU know?
God - YOU see?
I cannot relay this to my family, absurdly because they already know and dislike. I cannot spill soul to a friend, none live close or none I care to admit my failure of ultimate choice to. Somehow just let me know You know and You see. Unfairness so large my soul struggles and shakes and refuses to contain it. So monstrous in size and scope that my protection of my kids solely, every day anew, prevents me from wiping it all off, clean and walking away to attempt to recover some dignity and self-respect. Nothing else, at all. It's all my perverted sense of duty, and some shred of thought that in all this, Your purpose is present, though I'm enraged at knowing how deeply I'm hurt, and how thoughtlessly, and how persistently.
God - YOU see?
I cannot relay this to my family, absurdly because they already know and dislike. I cannot spill soul to a friend, none live close or none I care to admit my failure of ultimate choice to. Somehow just let me know You know and You see. Unfairness so large my soul struggles and shakes and refuses to contain it. So monstrous in size and scope that my protection of my kids solely, every day anew, prevents me from wiping it all off, clean and walking away to attempt to recover some dignity and self-respect. Nothing else, at all. It's all my perverted sense of duty, and some shred of thought that in all this, Your purpose is present, though I'm enraged at knowing how deeply I'm hurt, and how thoughtlessly, and how persistently.
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