piano music
yo-yo ma's cello
it reaches in and draws out something
i don't know what even as it runs down my cheeks
unnamed sadness in my soul
ebbs out at beauty's invitation
tears make an invisible soul's sadness visible
materialization of a spirit bypassing the mind
no words
just knowing that is beyond thought
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Farts and Flips
"Mom, wouldn't it be cool if we could use farts out of our butts as a jet pack?!"
This is what my child thinks about as he's drifting off to sleep.
Did I say drifting?
There is no drifting.
This child runs full speed through the day using every last molecule of energy to its zenith.
He lives life out loud, bouncing and chatting, lamenting and bubbling.
After pajamas are on, I make him do his 10 mandatory flips on the couch to get the last reserves of energy out.
If that doesn't work, I add on 10 push-ups, 25 jumping jacks, 35 sit-ups, 15 rows of potato picking and 5 huge bear hugs for mom.
I think its that last one that helps him get right to sleep.
This is what my child thinks about as he's drifting off to sleep.
Did I say drifting?
There is no drifting.
This child runs full speed through the day using every last molecule of energy to its zenith.
He lives life out loud, bouncing and chatting, lamenting and bubbling.
After pajamas are on, I make him do his 10 mandatory flips on the couch to get the last reserves of energy out.
If that doesn't work, I add on 10 push-ups, 25 jumping jacks, 35 sit-ups, 15 rows of potato picking and 5 huge bear hugs for mom.
I think its that last one that helps him get right to sleep.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Forgoing the Machete
"I have the best mom in the world."
Those undeserved words last night show the power of crawling up on a loft bed when you're too tired after a long day. Listening to a boy's wonder at burrowing owls and the difference between vultures and buzzards and "did you know that all black birds in Florida are red-winged, Mommy?"
These past few years, I've fought the end of the day, night time thing with the kids. I'll read a story from time to time, say prayers, always a kiss and a hug goodnight, too many times a curt word about mommy being tired and needing some quiet. Aren't I entitled to a bit of quiet after a day spent schooling and running and refereeing too many fights? For damn sure, I am. I make sacrifices. I've worked hard today. I deserve a break. The problem is, I never met an entitled person I liked.
I measure my life and my days by many things. How much did I get done today? What did I accomplish? My list is long and when I cross things off I think I feel better, like life is moving in the right direction. Me and the myopic machete slashing through life.
Since February, and reading the love chapter in Corinthians most days with the boys, I've been mulling measuring my life in love. It hurts to see how small I live.
"I can make all kinds of sacrifices..." home school, rarely have time or energy for friends, my thread of sanity after the 30th fight today...
"and yet if I do not have love it is all an awful noise..." "my whining, and scolding and demanding and curt bedtime no more talking!..."
None of the tasks, sacrifices, accomplishments---whatever I'm calling them today---matter if its done without love. Love in my voice, love in my eyes, love in my actions.
A list will have you send your boys off to bed with a quick hug and a kiss.
Love will send your weary body climbing up a loft ladder to listen to little hearts delight.
Laughing real belly laughs with my boy as he reads Calvin and Hobbes...he doesn't just read...his expression and voices and inflections...watching him choose "one last strip" with the discernment of an aficionado...
The last hour of my day slips away...I would normally measure that hour in dishes done, floors swept, rooms straightened, to do lists made...everything in order, quarter-bouncing tight and in place.
The last few nights I've chosen to measure it in love and there's laughter everywhere, questions strewn about, smiles all over the place and a mess of giggles.
I feel better, like life is moving in the right direction.
Those undeserved words last night show the power of crawling up on a loft bed when you're too tired after a long day. Listening to a boy's wonder at burrowing owls and the difference between vultures and buzzards and "did you know that all black birds in Florida are red-winged, Mommy?"
These past few years, I've fought the end of the day, night time thing with the kids. I'll read a story from time to time, say prayers, always a kiss and a hug goodnight, too many times a curt word about mommy being tired and needing some quiet. Aren't I entitled to a bit of quiet after a day spent schooling and running and refereeing too many fights? For damn sure, I am. I make sacrifices. I've worked hard today. I deserve a break. The problem is, I never met an entitled person I liked.
I measure my life and my days by many things. How much did I get done today? What did I accomplish? My list is long and when I cross things off I think I feel better, like life is moving in the right direction. Me and the myopic machete slashing through life.
Since February, and reading the love chapter in Corinthians most days with the boys, I've been mulling measuring my life in love. It hurts to see how small I live.
"I can make all kinds of sacrifices..." home school, rarely have time or energy for friends, my thread of sanity after the 30th fight today...
"and yet if I do not have love it is all an awful noise..." "my whining, and scolding and demanding and curt bedtime no more talking!..."
None of the tasks, sacrifices, accomplishments---whatever I'm calling them today---matter if its done without love. Love in my voice, love in my eyes, love in my actions.
A list will have you send your boys off to bed with a quick hug and a kiss.
Love will send your weary body climbing up a loft ladder to listen to little hearts delight.
Laughing real belly laughs with my boy as he reads Calvin and Hobbes...he doesn't just read...his expression and voices and inflections...watching him choose "one last strip" with the discernment of an aficionado...
The last hour of my day slips away...I would normally measure that hour in dishes done, floors swept, rooms straightened, to do lists made...everything in order, quarter-bouncing tight and in place.
The last few nights I've chosen to measure it in love and there's laughter everywhere, questions strewn about, smiles all over the place and a mess of giggles.
I feel better, like life is moving in the right direction.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
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