your presence keeps inserting itself into my memories distant pasts that preceded you a trip to Nicaragua i vaguely recall you running on the beach of San Juan del Sur bay sand dancing out from under your feet my first trip to Thailand swimming in the sea off Koh Phangan weren't you there with me?
surely as an unfertilized egg some cells that would later become you a space in my uterus that would grow your bones and eyelashes.
did i ever exist without you? i recall you on motorbike trips through rice field-patched mountainsides i feel you there with me as i recollect lazy afternoons at Bellwood's Park.
were you the strength i found that helped me walk away?
were you the truth i found that helped bring me back?
all along you were there my tiny but mighty heartbeat.
i believe there was a time in my past — i took up space. i would stand my ground for something, i suppose.
these evenings lately i am content with being invisible. i take up only the smallest share of our bed i slip in hoping to go unnoticed wonder again why it takes me so long each night to find my way into this happiest of places i am filled with such peaceful gladness my body confined to the narrowest edge of the mattress or crescent-moon-shaped around you a balancing act between you and the cat your tiny body i am bursting filled with gratitude for the serene simplicity abundant tranquility and this minuscule allowance one joyful, invisible me.
the man at the coffee shop buys my son and i a chocolate chip cookie. kindness without hesitation. smiles at passersby, Happy New Year, to strangers. we fumble that extra few seconds to find spare change for those in need, eagerly hold doors open and allow that speeding car to cut in our lane at the last second. we wave him in, graciously. we eat slowly with gratitude and make healthier choices. our glasses spill over with hope. we have such pure intentions. we believe that we are capable of so much. of anything. anything is possible. we tell each other, This is Your Year.
all i want for Christmas is you to always feel worthy to know you are perfect already just as you are you don't need to strive or search for anything outside of yourself you are totally and wholly complete you don't need to add anything or be anything else you already are.
if you forget this don't fret we all forget sometimes that we are divine beings born out of love created by and for love and love is here to remind us always to come back to ourselves our true selves you are loved you are worthy you belong here you. are. you already are.
we lay in bed you just turned four you can reach the light switch now, beside our door
it’s dark and quiet not much talk at all your tiny voice asks Mom, am i still small?
so much chatter lately and so much change thoughts like thunderclaps you’re feeling strange
everyone’s been saying that you’re big now but you don't feel big and you don’t know how
you’re supposed to be big but you still feel little maybe big sometimes sometimes in the middle
don’t want to be called big boy every day because you may feel different than the way we say
i thought to myself all those times we’d said you’re a big boy now! those words in your head
the weight of that what that must feel like so i kissed your head as i did each night and i asked you then well, what do you feel like? still small Mom holding my hand tight, (your tiny hand that was still so small yet so much bigger than it had once been, wasn't that just moments ago?) you’re still small my love, yes, of course, that's right.
you're growing every day, my love growing in your sleep wish time would stretch along with you babies just don't keep you'll notice, love, this growth can be a bit of ebb and flow a loop de loop, or uphill climb so many ways to grow you will grow big, of that i'm sure you will grow taller too your hands will grow to hold your dreams feet too, to carry you sometimes you'll grow in a straight line or wiggle right along you'll feel you've mastered growth and then grow more, finding you're wrong you'll grow to reach what you desire you'll grow your insides too expand your mind, enlarge your heart you're growing into you later, if growth gets messy, love challenges what you know trust yourself, you've got this there's no wrong ways to grow.
my son says repeating what he's heard somewhere to him heaven is a feeling a cozy spot a warm nook wrapped in a blanket or his mother's arms it's heaven here means this feels good i feel safe i am loved the word heaven does not yet conjure up notions of an afterlife in the clouds a judgement day angels and long white-bearded men it's a sensation in his body it's a moment it's his favourite meal heaven is right here where we are here on earth i hope he never learns another way to think about it it's heaven here
you are three-and-a-half and just perfectly so my simplest requests usually met by your no you are testing each limit and pushing them too each boundary i set has to stand up to you you assert yourself daily needing to be heard losing your patience should i miss a word tidal waves and tsunamis of emotions blow in second later, clear skies and your megawatt grin you are just as you should be you are perfectly you a marvelous display a toddler through and through i would not change a thing have it some other way each milestone you leap over each turbulent day and oh, how I loved you when you were two but there’s so much you do now then, you couldn’t do and oh, how I loved you when you were one but you won’t hear me saying that one was more fun each new year brings new magic and a new little you think i can’t love you more then with each year, i do you are three-and-a half and just perfectly so you’re here showin’ Mama how to let go how to just be see i’m learning you know! you are changing so much, i love watching you grow. you are three-and-a-half, and just perfectly so.
the shape of you sleeping in our dimly lit room. you shrieking, chasing the cat pretending she is a coyote. chase me, chase me you run, narrowly missing every corner, taking the stairs two at a time, leaping off your stool each chance you get. you are most contented with: your dump truck a shovel, and mud. you walk into puddles as though kissing the sea. orcas can live here, you say on a rainy day in April about the puddle in our backyard. you spend all afternoon there despite the weather, hauling coffee-coloured rainwater from one end of the yard to the other. finding worms to show me, gleefully, running at me with your muck-splattered face. your right eyelid is still purple from Easter Sunday. lately, i’ve been dressing you in jeans and a t-shirt, overwhelmed by how old you look. you know, i see it all so differently now, my love. a muddy backyard, full of puddles and limitless potential. i see the dirt under your nails, a sign of time well-spent. i see you, moving that brown water, sloshing around the back of your dump truck over tree roots and all that muck. i see you, i see you, i see you.
we teach our children the way we think the world should be we show them the way we believe the world could be
we teach our children to be curious. we teach them kindness and gentleness. we tell them of their own innate goodness. we teach our children to pay attention: the call of a bird, a dog barking, the moon; we teach them patience and acceptance. we teach our children that all their feelings are welcome, it’s safe here, you are loved. we say to them, this is a beautiful place, isn’t it? look at the sun my love, did you know when it rises here it sets in Thailand? listen to the sound of the snow crunching under your feet squish the mud with your fingers trace your name in the sand listen. did you hear that? it’s the sound of the wind a train a helicopter. we let time stand still and we exist in that moment only, with them. we play, we laugh, we sing so much. (we never knew we would sing so much.) we teach them to be themselves. we tell them they can be whatever they want to be in this world. we tell them to listen to their hearts their bodies their inner wisdom. we don’t want to lay it on too thick, but we tell them to listen to their true selves. shhhhh… listen.
we believe in magic, with them. with them, we don’t hold back, we are unconcerned, we are not self-conscious. (the singing for example, we really didn’t know there would be so much singing.)
we are reminded daily, almost hourly really, of how incredible and abundant and miraculous life here really is. that they are that. that life and our constant little reminder. we try to convey this to them on a long drive home one afternoon during the why why why phase every three-year-old goes through. but, well, just end up singing a song about the sun, the moon and the stars. shhhh… can i tell you a secret? you are that, my love.
mama musings 