“The fruition of the year had come and the night should have been fine with a moon in the sky and the crisp sharp promise of frost in the air, but it wasn't that way. It rained and little puddles of water shone under the street lamps on Main Street. In the woods in the darkness beyond the Fair Ground water dripped from the black trees.”
Sherwood Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio

Thursday, February 11, 2016

High Church, Short People



He hopped up on the kneeling bench tonight, standing in his little, high topped tennis shoes meant for a posture of devotion he was the same height of the adults before him who had knelt there. He grinned up at the priest and she bent down to his level and took his cherub cheeks in hers, smudging his little forehead and she told him intimately, "Remember, that you are dust and to dust you shall return." He listened, paused for a split second, flashed her another grin, and told her agreeably "Okay!" and jumped off the kneeling bench without a backward glance.

I aspire.

Okay, I'm dust.
Okay, I'll be dust again someday.
Time to practice joyfully jumping off the kneeling bench.

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Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Sacred Maternal Brokeness

My husband rocks. Love him so much. He's kind and thoughtful and sentimental to the max but also pushes my edge, is tough as nails to argue with and has a more willpower than anyone I know. Sometimes he says exactly the right thing, I love having anther person there to be stable and think clearly when I am feeling off or melting a little.

Last night one of the boys was having a bedtime meltdown....after having a dinnertime fit....and a pre-Daddy coming home screaming and crying session. I took a break because I couldn't handle it anymore and was on the verge of crying myself. I found A, and shut the door to the room, and told him, " Sometimes I feel like such a broken person that I can't handle the crying anymore. What's wrong with me?"

He laughed, and he hugged me and he told me..."That's your design....remember? Nothing is wrong with you. You're wired to not be able to ignore it. Good motherhood means being bothered by the cries of your little ones. You're perfect."

I cried. And felt totally good and right and seen.


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Saturday, February 6, 2016

A Family Link, In Verse

Happy Poetry Friday! Its the weekend y'all and we made it all the way across the line. Having a little Flashback Friday moment tonight, not enough inspiration or time tonight to pen a poem of my own and so, I'm sharing a great one by Jacqueline Woodson about family.
My parents and I and my first baby sister Jen, sometime in 1984.
I feel increasingly connected to mine as I age, as my boys grow bigger and form their own connections, as I research my family tree, consider my genetic testing I got for Christmas this year and soak into my new life so very far across the country. I'm lucky, I have a wonky, bumpy, lovely family full of grit and jokes, woodsmoke, doubt and other delicious things. They are wonderful people all of them and I am working on sorting out who I am in relation to them and who I am not in relation to them, but no matter who I turn out to be, I know I will belong. I am part of these crazy people and they are part of me. Its a strong thing to feel that internal wire, stringing you all together irreversibly. May the cable never sever.
My parents and I, December 2015.

Here's my contribution to Poetry Friday this week. Enjoy.

genetics

BY JACQUELINE WOODSON
My mother has a gap between
her two front teeth. So does Daddy Gunnar.
Each child in this family has the same space
connecting us.

Our baby brother, Roman, was born pale as dust.
His soft brown curls and eyelashes stop
people on the street.
Whose angel child is this? they want to know.
When I say, My brother, the people
wear doubt
thick as a cape
until we smile
and the cape falls.


Catch the rest of the submissions this week at The Miss Rhumphius Effect, click over and have a marinade.

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