At This Moment

At this moment, Magoo twirls around the living room.  She’s doing her best to dance as she believes a chrysalis would.

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At this moment, the Goose twirls like a “boo-ful rina rina” (ballerina) with a dress that won’t stay on her shoulders and her diaper hanging out the back.

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At this moment, Mae sits on my lap, giggling her little baby giggle, mouth wide open, eyes on fire.

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And at this moment, TJ and I sit here, enamored by the moment, minds swirling in an overwhelming sea of emotion.

Because at this moment, I have been taught what it feels like to experience pure, all-encompassing, cry out loud joy.

And for that reason, I will spend the rest of my life basking in gratitude for this very moment.

There is Light

I am not a perfect mother.  I have almost as many failures as I do success.  But all three of my children know that when they need comfort or laughter or love or a soft place to land that they can come to me.  And I look around preschool, and I see many other equally lucky children.  Children who don’t know hunger or violence.  Children who are able to find trust in the world because they learned it from those entrusted to show it to them.

And then I read articles like this.  Read it if you want, but if you want to spare yourself the gory details, it’s just about a little boy (one year old) who was taken from this Earth way too early by the exact people who were supposed to show him how to live in it.

Ordinarily when I read stories like this, I quickly look the other way mentally.  I don’t allow myself to process it fully because the horror is just too great.

I look at my babies, and I am reminded of the terribly broken world they have inherited.

We live in a world where millions of children are literally starving to death.

We live in a world where people who desperately want children can’t have them and those who don’t want them use them and abuse them.

We live in a world where the greatest threat to young children is their own caretakers.

And it doesn’t make sense to me.

There isn’t a whole lot of light in this world.  We’re all tainted.  We’re all imperfect and broken.  The darkness of our sins can sometimes dim the light of our spirit.

And then we are given the blessing of light and innocence in our children, and as a society, we can’t always even let that shine.

Daily, I want to take my girls and TJ and hide away somewhere in a cave far away from here.  Far away from people who use and abuse and exploit little ones.  Far away from the lessons they will learn from this imperfect world.

But each time I remind myself that this world is theirs.  They inherited it.  It was a gift from their creator.

It’s not perfect.  Often, it’s not beautiful.  But it is theirs.  And I have to trust that there is some divine plan for them within it.  I pray there is.

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Linking up here

Dear Disney

This little girl loves Brave.

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She calls her “Brave,” not “Merida,” and she calls her daddy, “Da” because that’s how Brave does it.

If you ask her who Brave’s prince is, she’s quick to tell you that she doesn’t have one.

She pretends to do archery and she wants to ride a horse like “Angus.”  She pronounces that with the Scottish accent.

Like all little kids, she tries to emulate her heroes.

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She also loves running outside and collecting pine cones.

She loves hitting balls with her wiffle ball bat and visiting the butterfly gardens to take pictures.

She spends most of her time sitting at our table writing stories, and quite a few star Merida.

She was Merida for Halloween.

She believes she’s smart and beautiful and kind.

She knows it’s most important to be nice and that this is what Jesus wants us to be.

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Like all of us, she has an uphill battle to maintain this sense of security and self worth in this media saturated world.  She’ll face magazines and television shows and movies and friends who all tell her that to be good enough she has to be more.  They’ll tell her to dress for other people, to see herself through their eyes, to judge her worth based on what the boys think of her.  They’ll tell her a woman must be young and beautiful and sexy.  Intelligence will be secondary and creativity and assertiveness won’t even make the list.

She has an uphill battle, Disney.  Don’t make it harder.

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If you are unfamiliar with the changes Disney has made to the Merida character now that she is officially being inducted into the line of princesses, check out this article.  The good news is that Disney needs us more than we need them.

Invisible

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Most moments of every day…

Someone is loving me.

Someone is asking me questions.

Someone is asking for hugs and kisses and cuddles.

Someone doesn’t want to be alone.

Someone wants me to play and read books and color and find the play dough.

Always.

I am quite literally always in demand.

And yet why do I feel so lonely?

It would seem like this vocation of mine would be the antidote to loneliness.  After all, I am never alone.  But oftentimes it feels like I am loved but never actually seen.

Ordinarily this doesn’t really bother me.  I enjoy dedicating my life to helping these three little ones feel loved in theirs.  I find my greatest joys through their joy.  I find the most meaning when I help them make sense of things.

It’s just that every so often, I want to go up to the roof and scream out my name and say that I am a person and I have things that I like and don’t like.  I have passions and ambitions, likes and dislikes, hopes and dreams.  Most of me is their mama, but a part of me is a person too, autonomous and individual.

And I really want my girls to see that.  I want them to see me being their mom but also being a person.

Sometimes I think they were sent to teach me more than I could ever teach them.  Because just as I am feeling most invisible, I am reminded that I have a responsibility to them to be visible and to teach them that it is okay to be seen.

They push me to be more, to do more, to want more.  They push me to be the best version of myself.

I hope one day they will see that.

Milwaukee

Blog a day May topic: What do you miss?

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It seems like everywhere I turn, people are lamenting past seasons of their life. I wish I could be twenty again.  I wish I could be a kid again.  I wish…

And I don’t usually chime in because I really don’t want to be anywhere or any time but right where I am.  I wouldn’t go back in time and relive my younger days.  Sure, it would be great to have the energy of my twenties, but my mid-thirties are doing well by me.

That being said, there is a place that I miss desperately at times, and that place is Milwaukee.

I remember when I was in high school, and I would go to college visits with my parents.  It was intoxicating.  I loved the energy.  Even at my least favorite campuses, the vibe was almost palpable.

I think it’s the energy of promise and fresh faced idealism.  At that time in your life, everything is new and exciting.  Everything is almost infused with possibilities.  It’s a time of preparation for the rest of your life, and for most college kids, their opportunities seem endless.

And there’s the beer.  College always holds the promise of large quantities of beer.

But like I said, I wouldn’t want to go back to that time.  With all of that possibility also comes a lot of doubt, and with all those new doors and new relationships comes some loneliness.

But I wouldn’t mind spending about five minutes as a high school senior walking the sidewalks of Wisconsin Avenue, taking the guided tour of Marquette.  Just to feel again what it is like to see only open doors.

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Those Who Went Before

blog_momsdayI haven’t been back to her grave since the day we had her ashes buried.  I’ve thought about it a few times.  I thought about how it would be comforting to see her name on the grave stone, to see the physical proof of her existence.  But then, too, I thought it would be weird to see something so personal, the name of my grandmother, out there on a rock in the middle of such a public place.

And I’ve thought about going because it seems proper.  It seems like the right and normal thing to do – go there and introduce her to my two youngest daughters, the two she never got a chance to meet.

But I guess I’ve never gone because I just haven’t really felt the need.

I had never really lost anyone close to me before my grandma died.  That was four years ago today.  At the time, I was so scared.  I had so many questions.

Would I ever again feel truly at peace with one of the most important people in my life gone?

When the pain starts to ease, will the memories ease as well?

Will the pain ever ease?

What will it be like when I have more babies?  Babies who she will never hold in her arms?

Four years later, I have some of my answers.

I now know that the pain will ease.  Most days I’ll think about her from a place of comfort.  But some days, some moments, the magnitude of what I have lost will hit me like a ton of bricks, and I’ll find myself sobbing as I drive down the road or as I lay in bed or as I stand in the shower.

Will I forget her?  The question that terrified me those four years ago now seems almost laughable.  How could I forget her?  She’s still here.

I see her face in pictures of my sisters and my cousins.

I see her creative spirit in Magoo’s artwork and imagination.

I see her fire in Goosie’s eyes, and I see her gentleness in little Mae’s soft touch.

I hear her voice when I call Goosie an imp or I tell Magoo to put her coat on because she’s going to get sick.

I hear her name when I call Goosie by her given name, one she shares most of with her great grandmother.

I see her joys when I talk to my sister about the television show we all loved so much.

But the most important role she played for me was as my grandmother, and as such, I see her most clearly in my own mom, my daughters’ grandmother.

I see it in the way she looks at them with such pride.

In the way she excitedly awaits their arrival, and only sees the beauty in them once they have arrived.

In the way she laughs at their antics and cries at their heartache.

I see that in this entire world, besides TJ and I, no one loves those three little girls as much as my mom and dad.  And through that, I see them.  I see her.  I feel her.

And I guess perhaps that’s why I’ve never really felt a need to go visit her grave.  It’s because she is all around me.  I feel her in the bright rays of the sun, and the sweet scent of my lilac bush, and the wave of comfort that comes across me in times of trouble.  And I don’t need to introduce her to her great granddaughters because I believe she already knows them.  That she was there in that room with me when Mae came into this world.  That she was watching over Magoo on her first day of school and that she laughs at all of the silly faces Goosie shows us on any given day.  And I believe that before they ever made it down here to take root and be knit together deep inside of me that she was up there holding their hands and being the mother to them that I was not yet able to be.

And today, the day before Mother’s Day, I guess it just leaves me with one giant feeling of gratitude.  Gratitude that because of the gifts given from my grandma and from my mom, that I can now in turn pass those gifts on to Magoo, and Goose, and Mae.  That I come from a long line of women who know, above all, what it means to love.  Who have left me with a legacy that I am not only happy but am proud to pass along.

It’s a big and lonely and confusing world, and sometimes I shudder at what my girls will have to face as they make their way through it.  But I never doubt their spirit or their character because I know that through my hands, the same hearts that guided me all those years will now be guiding them.

So thank you to Mom and Grandma for making me who I am.  And thank you to my aunts and my sisters, my sisters in law and my cousins who get to walk the road with me and get the priviledge of carrying on her spirit.  It is my honor to walk among you.

Happy Mother’s Day

Moments

Do you have a mantra?

I never did.  I’m not one for short, simple sayings.  If you’ve read my blog before, you’re probably fairly aware of the fact that I like words, and I don’t mind using a lot of them.

But as of late, I have been using a mantra of sorts, and I want to share it with you tonight.

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I’ve always had a failure mentality.  I look at my dreams, and instead of seeing promise, I see a track record of failure.  It panics me.  It paralyzes me.

And then every now and again, something will hit me and I will remember that life is just a series of moments.  And at any time, we can change our life by changing our next moment.  Looking long term is good; remembering our successes and failures is key.  But in the end, all we ever have is this moment.

How do you want to spend it?




 

 

Some Days

Most days are a mix of good and bad – lots of drama and tears and boo boos mixed in with sporadic moments of pure bliss.

Some days it’s like I’m walking in the clouds. Everything just goes my way

And some days it’s just hard.

The tears won’t stop for hours.

We finally get on the road, and we need to stop and take all three kids out for a potty break.

There’s nothing in the fridge.

There are no clean clothes appropriate for the day’s activities.

The dog has an accident on the carpet.

I can’t find my keys.

We’re out of gas in the car.

And it’s pouring outside.

I try my best on days like these to count to three before reacting. (Ten just isn’t safe with littles.).

I try to remember that they are four and two and 3 months and that they are acting as a four year old and two year old and an infant should. It’s their right.

I try to remember to look for the positive. To focus on the love. To remember that this too shall pass.

But you know what?

Some days it’s just hard.

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Owning Beautiful

They like to put on the sparkles.

Everywhere.

Sparkles on their fingers, on their toes, in their hair, and on their nose.

And they like wearing pink.  With polka dots.  With plaid on the bottom and some streamers in their hair.

They dress for themselves.  So when they look in the mirror, they see beauty.  No need to consult any others.

It’s an innocent sort of search, this looking for beauty within oneself.  And it’s one we lose way to soon.

When we look for other’s approval.  When we shop for trends.  When we paint our nails and faces the ways the women in the magazines do it.  When we dress to fit in.

Somewhere, somehow, very young, we learn that our beauty doesn’t belong to us.  It’s for others, for the world – to be admired or judged, envied or mocked, scorned or adored.

We look in the mirror and we ask others for opinions.  We get dressed up to go out in public, but we sit at home, hiding and covered in sweats.  We look at what the camera lens tells us it sees, and we recoil in disgust.

We tell our children that beauty comes from within, but how many of us believe that.  At least when it comes to ourselves.

Many of us learn along the way that we can’t live to make other people happy.  We can’t do everything for everyone. We can’t be everything for everyone.  As we age, we slowly begin to take ownership for who we are and what we want.  But when it comes to beauty, most of us never learn how to do that.

But let’s take that back.  Let’s teach our girls and our boys and ourselves that our beauty is our own.  It’s for us.  They can love us or they can hate us, but they can’t define us.

Let’s wear some sparkles and do what makes us feel beautiful and finally and absolutely refuse to believe that our beauty was made for others.

We are ourselves.  Beautiful, strong, individual.  Let’s own it.

Today I’m linking up with the wonderful organization below whose mission it is to help young women claim their beauty.  Check them out.


 

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